


The Science of Selling Yourself Short

by LadyLan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Canon Era, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLan/pseuds/LadyLan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the beautiful, slightly bored genius and the arrogant, slightly homicidal Saiyan Prince are trapped under the same roof for three years, who knows what will happen? Well, besides Goku, their son from the future, and Piccolo, of course. A three-year story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Glaring down at the fruit resting on the shiny finish of the kitchen counter, Bulma came to the conclusion that it was all the stupid strawberries' fault.

Upon reaching this decision, she mumbled a death threat to the berries, aware that talking aloud to fruit was certifiably crazy. Perhaps even crazier than talking to oneself, which she'd found herself guilty of on more than one occasion.

What had she been thinking, she wondered, at sixteen when all she'd wanted was a lifetime supply of strawberries? If she hadn't made the Dragon Radar she'd have never met Goku. Without Goku there'd be no saving Earth or Yamcha or death on Planet Namek or knowledge of things like the precise date and time her world would come crashing down around her ears. No, Bulma would be as blissfully unaware as everyone else on Earth. Everyone, that is, outside her group of crazy misfit friends.

Besides, it wasn't like she'd been denied anything before. If she'd wanted strawberries everyday, they'd have been handed to her on a silver platter. What she'd really hungered for was adventure and excitement, one summer vacation escapade to get a little messy and have a little fun. What she'd longed for was experience, and she'd gotten far more than she'd ever bargained for.

Then, somewhere along the way she'd changed her mind from wanting strawberries to a boyfriend. Her eyes darted from the strawberries to the bouquet of pricey spring flowers. Apology flowers. A crease formed on her brow; what occasion was she gifted flowers otherwise?

Cancelled date? Flowers.

Forgotten anniversary? More flowers.

Caught at the supermarket with a girl from the aerobics class he'd met while training for impending doom? That's right, she sighed, turning her back to the admittedly lovely arrangement: flowers.

Not that he'd cheated on her. No, it seemed at times Yamcha was as faithful as a lost puppy, but her temper and the current state of their stale relationship had been enough to drive her over the edge.

And do enough obvious damage to warrant flowers.

She heard Vegeta in the kitchen. He hadn't made a sound upon entering the room, but who else would swing the refrigerator door open with such force she was surprised it hadn't been ripped from its hinges?

It had only been a few days ago that they had learnt of the threat in their future, of the death that was to come to everyone in three years time by the hands of the androids. The message had come in the form of a mysterious boy from the future, and as Bulma reflected on this rather serious matter, all she could think of as she studied the flowers was one of Vegeta's quips that fateful day. What exactly had he said when she'd handed him that pink shirt, she racked her brain for the precise words he'd used, one side of her mouth quirking upwards, about not being a variety of flower?

Vegeta studied the strange woman warily. The weak human had no sense of propriety, and even less preservation. She was like a time bomb, no inclination of when she'd blow. Not that Vegeta could be harmed by laughable human bombs, figurative or otherwise, but he'd found it was in his best interest to distance himself as far as possible whenever this particular human female lost it. When he'd first entered the room, she'd been glaring at a bouquet of weeds, looking both saddened and agitated by their presence. And now she was grinning like a fool. This quick shift in temperaments was a sure sign she was about to detonate.

"Idiot," he mumbled, turning from the room with the contents of a sandwich in tow. Bulma had never seen anyone use an entire loaf of bread to build a sandwich, but she was sure if there were another that could handle such a dietary feat it would be none other than Son-kun.

"Saiyans." She shook her head, sliding the strawberries across the counter, listening as they slid off the edge and dropped into the wastebasket with a satisfying plop. Bulma then picked up the vase, frowning at the beautiful arrangement of peonies before overturning it. She tossed the empty vase in the sink and dusted her hands together.

From the dining room table, Vegeta watched as the woman stormed out of the kitchen, her hands on her hips and her nose in the air. She sniffed, her ridiculous mass of curls swinging behind her as she marched past him and out of the room, slamming the door for good measure.

He did not even raise an eyebrow at her antics. More than accustomed to them, he took another bite from his sandwich and ignored her. Or tried to. He could feel her ki as she paced in the adjacent room.

She'd become something of an enigma to him. Sure, he'd noticed her looks on Namek, but he was still unsure why her presence had been required there. Truthfully, he didn't know much anything about her. From the moment she'd invited him to stay at her place, he'd purposefully distanced himself. He had her father for building and repairing training devices and her mother to supply him with food. Vegeta had no reason to speak with her, and he'd made a point not to.

The day they'd been wished back from Namek, just after she'd pointed out that he had nowhere else to stay, the vulgar woman told him that no matter how attractive he might find her, he wasn't to do anything naughty.

A crimson blush stained the prince's dark cheeks, and he stuffed another chunk of sandwich in his mouth, fingers tightening around the bread as he pondered her words.

"As if I would ever," he grumbled.

On the off chance that he did exchange words with her, it was usually nothing more than a quipped quarrel. She was temperamental, and he found it amusing how quick to anger she was. Though that was the extent of their relationship, quick spats in passing and nothing more.

From time to time he caught himself wishing he had someone to argue with. Not that blasted woman, of course, but someone. Nappa maybe, or Raditz even.

But he'd killed Nappa, and he would kill her, too. Eventually, when he was done with this planet. So there was no point in dwelling on the prospect of a new verbal sparing partner. It was an inconvenience; everything was, aside from him training.

He polished off his snack, and brought the plate back into the kitchen, dropping it beside the empty vase in the sink.

...

She slid the pair of safety goggles further up the bridge of her nose, and tried to concentrate on the tangle of wires on her worktable. The circuit board was nowhere near complete, but she had it in her mind that if she were able to focus, it would be done in no time.

Spinning her screwdriver, she tightened another rivet into place with a triumphant sigh.

"Beauty and brains," she beamed at her reflection in the shiny, green tile. "Now, if only those idiots would listen to you. I have half a mind to gather the Dragon Balls and find Gero's lab myself..."

"What was that, dear?"

She glanced up from the circuit board and blinked. Her father, black cat peeking over his shoulder, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, was standing at the doorway of the lab looking at her.

"Oh, nothing," she answered, shaking her head. "Just trying to get this chip completed."

Her father sat one of the coffee mugs on her worktable, eyes glancing over her work. He too noticed how much more there was to be done. "Looks like it will be a late night for both of us."

She quirked a brow in question, her eyes not leaving the wire she was securing. Her tongue darted between teeth, and she clenched it with a pressureless bite.

"That young man has already mastered two-hundred times Earth's gravity," he shook his head in awe, taking a seat at his own worktable. "He instructed me not to leave my lab again until I can get it up to four-hundred."

Her hand jerked, and she blinked. Glancing up, she met her father's eyes. She knew he enjoyed the challenges Vegeta brought, but she was not convinced any instructing the Saiyan had done was approached civilly. "But… that's suicide. Dad, you can't…"

Shrugging, Dr. Brief's sifted through his notes, the smile still at his lips. "Well, he is dedicated. And he took on two-hundred easily enough. He seems to think it's possible, so who am I to stand in his way?"

"He's in denial," Bulma scoffed angrily as she corrected the damage her earlier surprise caused. "Pig-headed ass…"

Her father simply laughed. Spreading his work across the table, he began scribbling adjustments to his previous calculations. "Remember dear, he is trying to save you."

Bulma bit her lips together, so as to not argue with her father. Vegeta was more than likely going to end up killing them all, that is if he didn't wind up killing himself first. She took a sip from her mug, delighting the warm caffeine. It seemed to help calm her frazzled nerves, and she found being angry with Vegeta distracted her from her earlier irritation with Yamcha.

And, sure, Bulma was aware that it was juvenile to be upset with her long-time boyfriend. At thirty years old, she knew she should be mature and take the highroad. He'd apologized, and he hadn't actually done anything. Now that they were both celebrities, it was difficult to keep their private lives secret; rumors could be ignited from the smallest misunderstanding. What was most frustrating, however, was that while Bulma spent the majority of her time within the compounds of her family's home and business, Yamcha was out and about, without her, providing fuel for such rumors. It was petty of her to get jealous that younger women were throwing themselves at her attractive, famous baseball beau, but every now and then Bulma Briefs felt she had the right to be a little petty.

And so she continued to work, focusing her thoughts on the reckless Saiyan. It was easier to think of Vegeta. It was painless, and in a strange way kind of enjoyable, to be furious and annoyed with him.

With each turn of the screwdriver, she picture jabbing her arrogant housemate. It made her smile, but only because she knew it would only serve to piss him off. There was nothing she could do to cause the Saiyan physical pain. Her blue eyes darted up at her father, lost in his work on the other side of the lab, and she frowned. No, she couldn't cause him harm, but she was fairly sure four-hundred-times Earth's gravity could. Maybe, she thought with a smile, if it were to squash him, it would serve to crush his ego as well.

...

"…. seven hundred ninety-one, seven hundred ninety-two, seven hundred ninety-three …."

He grunted the words through his ground teeth, his elbows shaking with each strenuous pushup. He frowned as a bit of sweat fell into his eyes, and he had to blink away the moisture skewing his vision. It did not stop him from his exercise, and as he continued to move, up and down, he felt his muscles tighten.

Yes, the force of the gravity was definitely serving to increasing his strength, but it wasn't enough. That was why he'd gone to the old man and demanded more. He would become a Super Saiyan, or he would die trying. Death or ascension, no other option was sufficient.

Eventually, Vegeta collapsed face-first on the gravity room floor. Through his panted breathing he could hear the hum of the chamber, and he squinted. Across the room, washed in dim, red light, the number '200' flashed back at him. He growled, picking himself back up the floor and continued his regiment.

Two hundred was twice what Kakarot had trained in to give him the edge he needed in order to transform. Vegeta started his pushups over again, beginning his count with the number 'one', determined that he would have to do twice the work if he wanted to keep up with the other Saiyan.

He wasn't sure what time it was, or whether it was light or dark outside. Time had become nothing to him, the days and nights blending together into his routine of sleeping, eating, and training. The only date he needed to focus on was May 12. In less than three years time he would have to prove himself. He had to. His teeth clinched tighter as he elbows bowed painfully.

Defeat the androids, and beat Kakarot. That was all the motivation he needed.

...

Bulma's arms stretched over her head as she let out a yawn. She glanced at her watch, seeing that it was one forty five a.m. Blinking away the sleep, she willed herself to stay up just a bit longer. Though as she walked through the living area, she was tempted to plop down on the couch without changing her clothes or brushing her teeth. Her bedroom was upstairs, and at times like these she found it awfully inconvenient to make the long trek. Especially when she was so beat.

"I wish I had Goku's Instant Transmission," she mumbled. Entering the kitchen, Bulma was pleased to find it clear of things like strawberries and apology flowers.

Glancing outside she saw that the Gravity Chamber was on. She could see the light it cast through its window on the lawn, and could hear the faint humming of it inside the quiet kitchen, lulling her already tired mind into sleep.

"Yes," she murmured, her eyes still on the dome-shaped ship on the opposite side of the yard, "well, he certainly is persistent."

With another yawn, Bulma deposited the remainder of her tepid coffee in the sink, turning away from the Gravity Chamber.

She spotted the empty vase still sitting in the sink, and frowned. The surge of her forgotten anger slapping like a wave, the force of it was rather dizzying. Her purse was on the counter and she sighed. Reaching in, she fished through the cluttered, purple bag until she found her phone. Bulma flipped it open only to find that she had no missed calls or texts. There was, however, a missed alarm.

"Crap…" she mumbled, pulling out the small, white case, cracking it open and popping the pill labeled 'Thursday' into her mouth. As she swallowed, she glanced down at the five little sugar pills staring back at her, reminding her of how moody she'd be in the days to come.

It was also a sure sign that Vegeta would be avoiding her even more than normal. She wasn't sure if he could sense her moodiness during her time, or if he could smell it.

A blush tinged her cheeks at the thought, but she brushed it off. Besides, he steered clear of her all the time, it had nothing to do with …. with that. She made a mental note that it was getting low and that she needed to be more consistent.

"Though by the way things are going, there's no need to rush out and get it filled."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she heard the Gravity Chamber power down. Turning on her heels, she scurried out of the kitchen to avoid another run-in with the Saiyan Prince. She was far too tired to come up with any clever remarks, and she hated looking like a witless fool in front of him.

As she rushed up the stairs, she wondered if, perhaps, he was not the only reason their encounters were few and far between.


	2. Chapter 2

She inhaled deeply, a smile on her lips as the smell of laundry detergent infiltrated her senses. Shutting the washer and listening as the devise spun to life with a gentle hum, she moved to the dryer. Opening the door, Bulma was greeted with the warmth of freshly cleaned clothes. The clothes inside the dryer were another delight to her senses, and her smile remained as she removed the garments and tossed them into the hamper on the floor.

Bulma Briefs was not often found doing chores. Sure, she worked in the labs of her family compound, but that was because she enjoyed her time there. Her family had created plenty of bots to take care of things like mowing the grass and vacuuming, but her mother still preferred to do the wash by hand. Lifting up a pair of shorts from the dryer and inhaling, Bulma thought she was getting a slight understanding of why that was. Before, she couldn't imagine taking pleasure in such dismal activities, but today she was bored out of her mind. Her mother was busy cooking and had turned to her, sitting at the table with her head in her hands, and asked her to get Vegeat's clothes out of the dryer.

Suddenly, realization dawned upon her and Bulma flushed, dropping the pair of shorts back into the hamper. Craning her neck to the side, just to make sure she was alone in the laundry room, she sighed with relief, the faint tinge of blush still on her cheeks. She couldn't imagine the shame she'd face had someone caught her, smiling blissfully as she sniffed the Prince of the Saiyan's training shorts.

She coughed with a shake of her head as she exited the laundry room, the basket of Vegeta's fresh, warm clothes in hand. The hallways at Capsule Corporation were numerous, but she'd lived her entire life here and knew her way to Vegeta's room. It was in the same wing as hers, though he'd chosen a room on the opposite side of the hallway. A decision, she suspected, he'd made consciously.

The door to Vegeta's room was closed, and she knocked before entering. She knew he was out training, but she'd learnt that when dealing with the temperamental Saiyan it was always best to be safe.

Bulma scanned the room, dropping the laundry basket on the bed at its center. She almost felt bad; five seconds in the prince's chamber and she'd already left a mess. The bed, which was meticulously made, was now wrinkled where she'd dropped the hamper. She smiled as she glanced around, the entire room reminding her of a soldier's barracks with its mundane coloring scheme, made queen sized bed with a single pillow, and its general cleanliness. It shouldn't have been too surprising to the heiress to find the room absent of decorations or knickknacks. Vegeta had come to her planet with nothing but his monstrous pride and the clothes on his back. However, the lack of personal effects left her feeling cold and alone. Frowning, she reminded herself that it so closely resembled a soldier's room because it was in fact the room of a solider, and it felt cold because it was Vegeta's room.

Moving to the hamper, she pulled out his laundry, and left his things lying on his bed. Her mother had ordered him the drawstring sweatpants, spandex training shorts, white muscle shirts, socks, and underwear. Bulma was not allowed to partake in anything regarding the Saiyan's wardrobe after the 'Badman' fiasco. She smiled. Bulma folded his navy training suit, wondering how a single man could own so much lycra, when another article of clothing caught her eye.

She stepped towards the corner of his room, where his desk sat empty aside from the chest plate he'd worn when on Namek. It was cracked and dirty, and sporting a hole from where he'd apparently been blasted. Turning the armor over, she saw the hole went clean through the armor. Bulma frowned, realizing that this shot to the heart was probably the decisive blow he'd taken from Frieza.

She would have pondered this longer, if she hadn't been busy twisting the strange material in her hands. It was light, but durable, and far stronger than any similar substance she could think of. Beneath it was the pair of gloves he'd been wished back in. His boots, she knew, were still on his feet. He'd had a fit when her mother wanted to have him sized for a pair of sneakers.

Placing the chest plate and gloves in the now empty laundry basket, Bulma made her way down to her lab with a pensive expression. Perhaps she'd finally found a way to, temporarily at least, tame her boredom.

...

Vegeta grunted as he stretched his muscles in two hundred and fifty times Earth's gravity. It was surprisingly more difficult than the jump from one hundred to one hundred and fifty had been. He could feel it in his chest, in the difficulty it took to breathe. It was a strange sensation, but he knew that pushing through the strain would only serve to increase his strength.

He'd paused that morning to feel Kakarot's progression. The man was miles away training with Piccolo and Gohan. The Namekian and Kakarot seemed a bit stronger, but the most surprising was the jump in young Gohan's power level. Vegeta grunted, grinding his teeth together. It was humiliating enough being outmatched by a low class warrior. He could not suffer the shame of losing to his half-breed son.

So he left the gravity as it was, starting his pushup regiment before engaging the training bots. He'd built a schedule in the room, and the pain kept his training from becoming monotonous. Every now and then he would pause and try to break through the barrier separating him from his destiny, but he could never feel himself snap.

If an idiot like Kakarot could ascend, he knew it would have nothing to do with his mind, but based purely on his physical strength. So he would not think about it, and eventually, it would just happen.

After hours spent in the Chamber, he finally disengaged the gravity.

"Tomorrow I will be able to train at three-hundred times gravity," his eyes narrowed at the screen, informing him that the room was back to regular gravity, "three times the training Kakarot undertook on his way to Namek."

He wiped his brow, and gathered two broken bots in his arms.

Outside, Dr. Briefs watched the young man exit the chamber, and waved. Vegeta deposited the pair of bots at the doctor's feet. "These two have malfunctioned," he informed the man, before disappearing to his room without another word.

Scratching his head, the old man studied the pair of broken bots. He knew he wouldn't be able to carry them to his lab on his own, so he left the bots laying in the yard and continued on his way.

...

Dr. Briefs stood in the entrance of the lab, watching his daughter with a proud gaze. When she was young, everyone gushed over her beauty, and how much she resembled his wife. It was when she turned four and she started taking apart her toys only to put them back together, that he realized how much she'd actually taken after him.

Her curls were pulled back, and her tongue was pinched between her teeth, as it always was when she was deep in thought. As silently as he could, he slipped by her and sat down behind his own desk. Turning his head, he smiled. She hadn't so much glanced up from her work, and she was more than likely still unaware of his presence. Her blue eyes narrowed in concentration, and he shook his head, turning to his own work. He'd definitely have to figure out a way to improve the bots; otherwise he'd forever be fixing the same set.

Bulma had been hard at work for hours, fabricating polymers until her head hurt. She was more of a mechanical genius, but this particular work was chemically based. More than a little eager to be done with the process, she tried to get through this part of the work so she could start building. That was where the fun began.

"Aha!" She said, leaning back in her chair and sighing with relief. Glancing down at her watch, she smiled. For the past three hours she'd been testing the matter in Vegeta's armor. Finally she had enough information to recreate it.

"What have you been working on, dear?"

Her father's voice startled her, and she turned to see him sitting at his desk, studying her through his spectacles.

"Dad! How long have you been here?"

"Long enough," he smiled, returning to the calculations before him. "You seemed pretty engrossed, so I didn't want to disturb you."

She nodded, "I saw you were making modifications to the Gravity Chamber this morning."

"I got it up to four-hundred and fifty times normal gravity." He shook his head, still in awe of Vegeta's training. "Hopefully that will keep him occupied for a little while."

They'd spent too much time arguing about Vegeta's safety, so she kept all comments on that matter to herself. Instead, she frowned. "Until he breaks it again."

Her father only chuckled, and the lab grew quiet. Getting to her feet, she removed Vegeta's gloves and chest plate from the heap of her messy desk. She then printed the polymeric formula and went to the greater lab to get to work on designing the prototype.

...

When he stepped into his room, he was immediately aware of two things. Clean clothes had been laid out on his bed for him, and there was the lingering scent of the woman in his chambers. The first one was only a minor inconvenience. Her mother was in a habit of folding his clothes for him and putting them away in their proper drawers. The younger, slightly less annoying one, however, was lazy and wasn't too keen on bending to his every whim, so them lying there unfolded was to be expected.

He entered his bathroom, cranking up the shower's hot water and stripping himself of his soiled clothing. He was not sure how long he'd been in the Gravity Room, but it was nearing twenty-four hours, an entire day on this planet. His muscles ached as the warm water soothed his beaten body. His mind, however, seemed to never be at rest. Cleaning himself, his mind mulled over his weaknesses during that day's training session. Twice he'd been hit head-on by his own blast, reflected from one of the bots Dr. Brief had constructed for him. He'd had to break two of them just to keep standing against the other four. His brow creased at the thought, a frown forming on his lips.

As he stepped from the steaming bathroom, he dressed in a pair of sweats that were on his bed, and placed the remainder of the clothing in his dresser. He tossed his dirty training shorts in the laundry hamper, and turned to put his boots on his desk, only to discover that his chest plate and gloves were gone.

Fist compressing around the only pair of shoes he owned, he growled. "Blasted woman…"

He quickly located her ki in the living area of the compound. He flung his boots on the empty desk and stormed down the stairs. The moment her blue hair was in view, his eyes narrowed.

"Woman!"

Startled by the voice, and the sudden presence of the Saiyan in her living room, Bulma jumped.

"Kami Vegeta," she breathed, setting her empty bowl of ice cream on the coffee table. It had joggled as a result of her surprise, and she was glad she'd nearly licked the bowl clean. "Chill out. You're going to send me into cardiac arrest if you keep sneaking up on me like that."

He ignored her words, his glare murderous. "Where are they?"

One of her thin brows arched. "What?"

"I am not going to say it again," he crossed his arms. Then he muttered, "Idiot human."

She rolled her eyes at his tired insult, and turned her attention back to the television. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Vegeta's jaw tightened at how easily she'd brushed him off. His eyes darted to the screen she was staring at. There were a group of humans standing amongst medical equipment, dressed as doctors. Despite the props, the humans were discussing emotions.

He glanced at Bulma. These idiot humans found the most bizarre ways to waste their time. This female in particular seemed absorbed in this false drama, and she was dressed in her sleeping clothes and had been eating ice cream before he'd approached. He shook his head.

"Answer me or I will destroy this blasted rectangle!"

Bulma sighed, picking up the remote and pausing her program. It was apparent the Saiyan was angry, more so than usual. He was visually shaking, and his palm was extended towards her television, ki threatening to form in his palm and carry out his promise. "Vegeta, calmly explain to me what you want."

"You know what I want!"

"No," she shot back, getting to her feet, her blue eyes narrowing, "I do not!"

He leaned forward a bit, glaring back at her.

Her lips pulled into a snarl as she matched the fury in the Saiyan's eyes. "Listen Vegeta. Just try to be a decent person for five seconds and tell me what's got your royal panties in a bunch. I'm not a mind reader, you know!"

Her eyes widened in fear as his arm shifted from TV to pointing directly at her. She quickly regained her composure, and held her ground. Vegeta felt the slightest nod of esteem for the woman. True, he'd grown soft and hadn't killed a damn thing since he'd been on this planet, probably giving her the idea that he wouldn't be killing her tonight. However, he still had a difficult time believing that this was the same sniveling woman from Namek. He remembered taking a Dragon Ball from her, and how she'd barely been able to make eye contact. But here, on her turf, she'd suddenly grown a backbone. He'd temporarily forgotten about his armor; he now only itched for a fight with a somewhat worthy opponent.

Her eyes darted from his outstretched palm to his dark, narrowed eyes, and a haughty smile laced her lips. "Oh? Are you going to kill me in my own home?"

"I'm considering it," he snapped back through clinched teeth.

"That's a wonderful plan Vegeta. I'm sure my mother will cook for you and my father will be inclined to fix the Gravity Chamber when they wake to discover me dead in the living room tomorrow morning."

He grunted. "I could force them, idiot woman. I have had people doing my bidding all my life because they fear me. In fact, it's something this planet could use a lesson in."

"Kill me, enslave my family," Bulma's smile widened. "I guess I'll see you in the afterlife once Goku's done away with you."

"Kakarot," he grunted. His teeth ground together. "I guess I will wait to kill you after I'm done with that idiot. What will you have to hang over my head after I have killed him?" His hand returned at his side, and there was no longer any fury in his frame. Bulma noticed that he looked more amused than upset. She frowned, ignoring his threat.

"So you came in, interrupted my show for something?" Her hands were on her hips, her haughty smile dropping to a tired frown. "I'm assuming you're scrounging for something again. What is it this time? More training equipment for you to break? Or perhaps the Price of the Freeloaders would like a midnight snack? Well, tough luck ass-face, you'll just have to wait until tomorrow when people who are willing to wait on you hand and foot are awake."

He chuckled. "Freeloading? Hn. Tell me woman, are you not doing the same thing? Living with your parents, having your mother cook for you and your father's business provide a roof over your head? At least I am useful."

"Useful? Ha!" She rolled her eyes. "Vegeta, I hate to break it to you, but you're not all that useful. In the end, it will be Goku who saves this planet and kills the Androids. We won't be needing your help."

His dark eyes narrowed, some of his earlier fury returning as her words struck a nerve. True, the Androids were more of a challenge than an adversary to him, and he did not care about the fate of this planet. However, he'd be damned if Kakarot eased another victory under his belt as Vegeta looked on. "Then perhaps I'll leave this planet. See how your pathetic friends do without me."

Her face fell. She knew that Vegeta was incredibly powerful, and with all the work he was doing he'd be a valuable asset to their team. Perhaps she'd need to be a little nicer to him if she wanted to live to see the world after the Androids.

"I actually think," she began, her voice low and holding no trace of its earlier malice, "you could be stronger than Goku, with the way you're training."

He blinked at her words. She'd let her guard down, and seemed to be trying to support him. Perhaps she was not as enjoyable to fight with as he though. "Hn. We shall see. Of course, I will require my armor and gloves for the fight."

"Oh!" She laughed. It was a strange sound, he thought. He hadn't said anything remotely funny, but her amusement was genuine. Another mood change, he frowned, deciding it was now time to back away. The woman, however, simply smiled. "Is that what you were bitching about? You should have said something earlier, Vegeta."

Spinning on her heel, Bulma turned from the confused Prince and started walking down the hallway to her lab. She stopped and cocked her head when she noticed he remained planted in the living room. "Well?"

"So you did take my armor?"

"Yep."

"Fucking bitch. Never touch my things, understand?" His eyes narrowed. "And you are not to enter my room ever again."

She let out a frustrated sigh, and continued down the hallway, not bothering to glance back to see if the Saiyan was following her.

He paused as he watched her turn and saunter down the hallway. Vegeta felt her ki approaching the science wing, and with a glance at the television screen, the doctors still frozen around their medical equipment, he shook his head and followed the bizarre woman into her laboratory.

He was angry with her for taking his things, but more so that she did not wish to fight back. As he entered her lab, he noticed the constant state of disarray. He'd often come here to pester her father, and he was always struck by how untidy this group of humans was. Her desk was scattered with papers, various metal devices, and several empty coffee mugs. And then he noticed his armor, laying on a table adjacent from her workbench. He frowned as he took in the tattered chest plate. There were dozens of cracks and several holes, but his eyes lingered on the puncture that had taken his life the first time, his jaw tightening at the memory.

"Aha," the woman's voice broke his train of thought.

He turned to find her stepping into the room, awkwardly balancing four chest plates in her arms. They were each white and gold, replicas of the second set of armor he'd donned on Namek. These chest plates were also spotless, and obviously new.

"I took the armor from your room," the woman explained, setting the four sets on the desk before him for his inspection. He did so, nodding as the woman continued. "The material was quite fascinating, and I couldn't resist trying to replicate it. It's light weight, but incredibly durable." She then set a pair of gloves on the table. Vegeta paused holding one of the chest plates in his outstretched arms, and glanced down at the gloves. "I only had time to construct one pair of gloves, but I should be able to make more by the end of the week."

He nodded absently, turning the armor in his hands. It felt like Saiyan armor, and resembled it remarkably so. He'd been furious when the Cold Empire had taken its superior design and recreated it for its own benefit. However, this woman's reconstruction stirred another, entirely foreign emotion in the pit of his stomach. His eyes glanced up to meet hers, and she beamed.

"Pretty sweet, right?"

"Hn," he grunted, setting down the plate and studying the gloves. "It is decent. Almost admirable considering how terrible human clothing is."

She laughed. "Trust me, I couldn't walk around in spandex all day."

One of his thick, dark brows arched in her direction, but he remained silent. He nodded towards the gloves, picking the pair up along with a chest plate before turning away from the woman. "I will require more of these."

With that, the Saiyan Prince exited from her lab without another word. Bulma rolled her eyes at his retreating frame. "Yeah, you're welcome." Shaking her head, she turned off the light in her lab and followed Vegeta to the main room. He disappeared upstairs, casting her one last glance, while she sat back in front of the television.

Reaching for the remote, she pressed play and her show resumed.

The following morning, when she saw Vegeta entering the Gravity Chamber, he was wearing his new gloves and armor. His old set remained on her worktable. Bulma was too afraid of his reaction if she brought it up, so she left it there.

Briefly, she wandered what it felt like to keep tangible evidence of your death as your only decoration. Of course, she knew a man like Vegeta would carry such memories with him, cracked armor or no.

She realized then that she'd done something nice for the Saiyan. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation, but she knew she'd only replicated the armor because it'd be a challenge. Still, there was something in the glance Vegeta had shot her when she'd presented the new chest plates to him. He'd been surprised, and he'd almost looked… appreciative. Not that the Saiyan Prince knew how to say thank you.

She frowned, screwdriver hovering over one of the bots she was helping her father fix.

"Because no one's ever done anything for him before."

Shaking her head, she tried to concentrate on the project before her. At her words, her father had looked up from his own bot, but he'd shrugged off her words. It wasn't the first time he'd caught his daughter mumbling to herself.

That was a trait she'd inherited from both her parents.


	3. Chapter 3

Vegeta had once again vanished into the Gravity Chamber, wearing his replicated Saiyan armor, and leaving Bulma to sink back into boredom. She almost missed his pestering over the status of his armor and gloves. It was all she'd heard the last few days. Just hearing his voice had been enough to make her scream, but now that she'd completed a substantial amount of replicas for the Saiayn Prince, she had nothing to do.

She glanced down at her father's project list. He'd already completed the daily repairs to Vegeta's bots before she'd finished her morning cup of coffee, and remaining were an insult to her intelligence. Nothing the Project Engineers couldn't handle. With a sigh, she sat her second cup of coffee on her workbench and rubbed her eyes.

"Morning Bulma," a cheery voice called from the entrance of her lab. Glancing up, she found her boyfriend grinning as he watched her, Puar floating at his side.

"Hey guys," she smiled in return, moving towards the entrance to give her boyfriend a quick kiss. She looked at Puar, realizing it had been a while since she'd seen either. "What's up?"

"Not too much," Yamcha answered, his eyes scanning the mess of her lab. He did not recognize three-fourths of the tools strewn across his girlfriend's worktable, and his head hurt just by looking at the tangle of wires at the desk's center. It had never bothered him that she was smarter than he, just so long as he didn't have to hear about her work. "You look like you need a break."

"A break?" She laughed. "It's nine in the morning. And you know me babe, that's kinda early."

"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, gently pulling her from the lab by her forearm, even though he knew she'd probably just stepped foot inside. "But I haven't seen you in weeks."

Sighing, Bulma cast one last glance at the work she wasn't all that thrilled to complete in the first place, and agreed. He was right; she had not seen Yamcha in a while, and they hadn't actually spoken since their last fight, the one that had resulted in the beautiful arrangement of peonies in the kitchen wastebasket. Cocking a brow in his direction as they walked down the hallway, his hand slipping into her own, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze, she wondered if she was still mad at him. Sure, he'd apologized via flowers, but had she actually accepted his apology?

With a frown, she decided their relationship was far too complicated if she herself couldn't keep track of their make-ups and break-ups. She loved Yamcha, her best friend and lover for nearly a decade, but at times she wondered why they even bothered. He turned and smiled at her, and she returned it. It was genuine, and no matter how much time they spent apart, Bulma was happy in his company.

"I was thinking of lighting up the grill this afternoon," she said, the smile still on her lips. She turned to Puar. "You guys are welcomed to stick around for some BBQ."

"Sounds awesome, babe."

"So," she continued, as the neared the living room and Yamcha plopped down on one of the plush couches. She hovered in the entryway, watching as the pair made themselves comfortable. "How's the training coming along?"

Yamcha shrugged. "I broke some more gym equipment. I'm too strong by human standards, but too weak to train with Goku and Piccolo."

Bulma frowned. He sounded carefree about this declaration, and his tone was light, almost joking.

"So I've been taking some cardio classes, and training on my own." He scratched behind Puar's ears, the cat mewling in delight. "I think the two of us are going to go into the desert to train for a little while."

Her fists had instinctively clinched at the mention of the gym. It had been where the rumors of his latest liaison had began, and she wanted to know how joining a women's fitness class was supposed to help in defeating the Androids. Instead, she blinked and voiced the other question at the tip of her tongue. "Leaving? For how long?"

"Oh," he shrugged, flipping on the television. "Not sure yet. You know how it goes."

Bulma sighed. Yes, she knew quite well how it went. Though she loved all of her friends dearly, she sometimes wondered if Chichi had a point. Yamcha had started off as a bandit, but he was the only of her friends to hold a steady job. And 'steady' was a loose term, for as soon as baseball season was done, he disappeared faster than Goku at the chance to train.

"Don't worry though babe, I'm not going anywhere just yet. I was actually hoping I could spend some time around here."

"Oh." Bulma blinked, and joined her boyfriend on the couch. "Sure. That'd be great."

"Awesome," he laughed, kissing her forehead before turning back to the television.

He'd had a nice lunch with his girlfriend over BBQ. Her parents had joined, and they'd talked and laughed like old times. There was no whisper of the Androids who'd come in less than three years time, which seemed to be the height of conversation when it came to his friends and girlfriend as of late. However, when anything regarding training came up, he noticed the way one of the Briefs would glance at the yard, where the arrogant Saiyan was preparing for the fight. Mrs. Briefs would gush over his dedication, while her husband would inform Yamcha of the incredible pressure the young man was training in. It was Bulma's reaction, however, the made his chest tighten. Her large blue eyes would drift to the Chamber buzzing on the lawn, and an unreadable expression encompassed her features. Yamcha couldn't decide if it was respect or admiration, fear for Vegeta's wellbeing, or if she was just still unsure how she felt about the Saiyan Prince.

Yamcha took another jab at the air, swiftly punching with his right hand an invisible opponent. His brow was knitted, and a few beads of sweat dripped into his eyes.

"She shouldn't be unsure about anything," he breathed. Though Puar was nearby, watching diligently, he was not speaking to anyone in particular. "She should hate that jackass."

His eyes glanced towards the Gravity Chamber on the other side of the yard, and his expression tightened. "That Vegeta," he mumbled, as he continued to punch air, "he thinks he's so tough training at three-hundred times gravity… Well, I'll show him that he's not half as tough as he pretends to be." A few more beads of sweat fell into his eyes, and he lowered his hands to his sides, panting. "I'll show him I can just as tough."

Turning to face Puar, Yamcha raised his voice so the shape-shifter could hear. "Let's take five Puar; I want to see what Vegeta's up to in there."

Puar nodded eagerly, and followed Yamcha to the opposite side of the lawn. Floating behind his friend, he glanced through one of the small, oval windows. The Gravity Chamber was larger than it looked from the outside, but was still only a modest sized training vessel. Puar's eyes took in the prince, dodging blasts from the bots scattered around the Chamber. The man was washed in the dim, red light, and when Puar glanced at the control panel, he noticed Vegeta was training at three hundred times gravity.

He gasped. "I guess this is what they mean by taking it to the limit, right Yamcha?"

At the sound of his companion's high voice, and the unbridled praise it held, Yamcha's eyes narrowed. "Sh," he said, bringing his finger over his mouth, "Quiet Puar, and keep your head down."

Nodding, Puar lowered himself, but tilted his head so he could see inside the Chamber. However, at a sudden, blinding light, Puar squealed and dove to the ground. He was quickly joined by Yamcha, who cast him a startled glance as he blinked away the stars in his eyes.

Inside the chamber, Vegeta lay on the floor. The blinding light was a result of something he'd done while training, and though Yamcha hadn't seen exactly what had caused the sudden flash, it appeared to have knocked Vegeta flat on his face. The prince lay on the floor of the Gravity Chamber. He growled, slowly pulling his head up after the obvious defeat. His cheek was badly bruised, and it seemed a struggle to push himself just inches from the ground. Yamcha watched as Vegeta got to his shaky feet, the Saiyan panting heavily, before crossing his arms across his heaving chest. A blinding light shrouded his frame and shot outward, destroying all six of the bots. They each dropped to the ground with echoing clangs, and Yamcha pulled himself away from the panting prince to gawk at Puar.

"Boy…" he muttered, shaking his head, "talk about your radical training program…" Perhaps he saw why the Briefs were in such admiration for the man.

Vegeta exited the chamber, all six bots piled in his arms. They were melted and mutilated, despite Dr. Briefs and Bulma's tweaking. They had been working diligently to ensure that they would be indestructible. He could hear the woman's reprimanding already.

Yamcha and Puar crouched, trying to hide beneath the dark shadows of the ship. The blue cat stiffened when the prince shot them a glance, but his muscles relaxed. Vegeta continued walking, not bothering them another look as he entered the compound. Yamcha shared in Puar's relief, exhaling slowly. He paused for a moment, feeling as Vegeta's ki approached Dr. Briefs. Bulma's energy was upstairs in her room, and it was restful. He pictures his girlfriend, sprawled back on her bed, gently snoring, and smiled.

"Whatever Vegeta can take, I can take, too."

Puar shot the man a surprised glance, but made no move to stop his best friend from sneaking into the Gravity Chamber. He watched as Yamcha muttered to himself about three hundred times normal gravity, and Puar stiffened as the door clanged shut.

Inside the Chamber, Yamcha puffed out his chest as he stood in front of the control panel, as though looking tough would serve to increase his strength. With a confident nod, he flipped on the gravity controls and immediately felt the force. It knocked him flat, and he struggled to lift his cheek from the floor of the room. "Oh no…" He dragged his hands in front of him, and used his arms to pull himself up off the ground. "What I have I done?" With a slow crawl, Yamcha pushed himself forward. A low grunt, and he pulled himself up using the panel, gasping as he awkwardly slumped against it.

"I'll be turned into a pancake if I don't shut this thing off…" He panted, forcing his arm forward. He couldn't believe the effort it took. How could Vegeta flip so effortlessly under such pressure, when he could barely stand? "C'mon," he muttered to himself, "just a little… uh!" He sighed in relief, his eyes sliding closed as the room's lighting returned to normal, and the gravity shut off.

"Simulation terminated," a monotone voice informed him of the obvious. "Normal gravity restored."

His limbs still felt heavy, and his entire frame shook with exhaustion. The door swung open, and his mind too spent to focus on sensing energies, he braced himself for Vegeta's fury. However, it was Puar who floated into the room, his eyes wide.

"Yamcha!"

The man cleared his throat, shifting his weight as he stood, spine straight. With a forced smile, he nodded towards the anxious shape-shifter. "Yeah, we definitely have some serious training to do."

It was a warm, sunny day outside the Capsule Corps. Compound. She could hear her family's collection of birds singing in one of the exterior gardens, and she wished the Namekians were still present. They always took advantage of days like these. Somewhere, she was sure, someone was enjoying the beautiful day.

With another needlessly noisy rustling of glossy paper, Bulma sighed as she turned the page of her magazine.

"Uh," the heiress muttered, tucking her feet beneath her as she glanced outside the window, "everyone else is training so hard to defeat those Androids." Her eyes shifted from Yamcha, who had dropped by again today as was currently practicing kicking a sandbag in the middle of her yard, to the buzzing Gravity Chamber at its edge. Inside she knew there was a very angry Saiyan trying to work himself to death. "I wish there was something I could do."

Her mother's cheery voice called her name, averting her attention to the smiling woman, holding a tray of sweets. She flounced towards her daughter, showing her the colorful display of cakes and tarts. "I stopped by the bakery today, and look what I got us!"

Bulma's eyes darted from the desserts to her mother's grin. She blinked, her lips twitching.

"Don't they look scrumptious?" Mrs. Briefs asked, giggling as she sat the tray down in front of her daughter, and joining her on the plush sofa. "Now, which one do you want?"

Rolling her eyes, Bulma settled herself back on the couch and glared into her magazine. "They're all yours mom. I'm not very hungry."

"What's wrong dear?" The blond woman asked, her brow lowering in concern. "Are you feeling lonely because all the boys are spending all their time training and not spending time with you?"

Bulma tossed her magazine to the side and glared at her mother. The words struck a chord, but not for the reason her mother assumed. "Oh please. I'm just not very hungry."

At this moment, her father entered the sitting area, stifling a yawn despite it being mid-afternoon. "You know, " he said, eyeing the platter containing the freshly baked goods, "I'm starting to think Vegeta's a few cards short of a full deck. It wasn't enough to have the simulator create three hundred times gravity for him, but now he's demanding that I make some more equipment for him to train with. And all he's going to do is break it."

Bulma crossed her arms. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

"Well I think it's great that he's trying so hard."

At his wife's words, the doctor looked thoughtful. "But don't you think he's over doing it a bit?" He took a cake from the platter as his wife poured three glasses of tea; discussing such matters were commonplace in the Brief's household, and there was an air of nonchalance around the trio as they debated things like death and destruction.

"Oh no, I think it's very admiral. In my day, a man that showed that much dedication to anything was definitely husband material. A girl would have to be crazy to let him get away." She nodded to herself, taking a sip from her teacup. "Oh, what am I saying?" Covering her face with her hands, Mrs. Briefs shook her head. "I'm a married woman!"

Bulma coughed, both surprised and amused by her mother's words. Her father blinked, but remained silent. Eyeing one of the tarts, Bulma sighed and reached for it, stuffing it into her mouth. Just as her mother was about to reproof her manners, the three of them were tossed from the seats.

Mrs. Briefs fussed over her tea, while Bulma exchanged a worried look with her dad.

"Are the engineers working on anything?"

He shook his head, helping his daughter to her feet. Glancing outside, Bulma saw a pillar of smoke rising from the small, spherical Capsule 03. Her heart lurched. "Vegeta…"

Turning on her heel, and leaving her surprised parents behind, Bulma pushed the door open and sprinted towards the building.

"Vegeta!" She shouted, her boyfriend following closely behind. She turned to him, and frowned. "I knew this would happen. He's been trying to do the impossible."

Yamcha blinked, wondering where all the sudden concern had been born, but shook the thought away. Vegeta had obviously been inside the Gravity Chamber when it had blown up, and he was a decent enough human being to drop to his knees and help Bulma rummage through the chunks of debris. He could feel Vegeta's power level, and though it was weak, it was there.

They both jolted backwards in surprise as a single hand emerged from the rubble. Bulma placed a hand over her chest, watching as an arm slowly followed the hand, and then the remainder of the Saiyan surfaced. He was bleeding and his clothes torn, but he was alive.

"You… okay?"

"Of course I am." He snapped.

Bulma sighed. Trust Vegeta to be nearly blown to smithereens but still fervently uphold his tougher-than-thou attitude. Well, she thought, shuffling to her feet, if he was well enough to talk back, than he was well enough to hear what she had to say.

"How dare you?" She shouted, hands on her hips. "You dweeb! You almost wrecked my house! What are you trying to prove?"

He straightened his spine, struggling to maintain eye contact, and let out a short, mocking chuckle. It was short lived, as the laughter caused his side to ache, and he teetered, toppling backwards.

"Wha?" Bulma's angry demeanor melted as she rushed forward, kneeling beside the fallen prince. "Oh no," she soothed, placing one hand behind him to keep his head from dropping backwards, while her other rested on his chest. "You're hurt."

He struggled in her grasp, wishing he had the strength to blast her away from him. What was this woman thinking? Putting her hands so fearlessly on the Prince of all Saiayns? He groaned. "I don't need help. I have training to do."

A small smile on her lips, Bulma's voice became soft. "You've got to stop training for a while. I mean look at you!" Her eyes scanned his bloodied form, and Yamcha stood, slack jawed a few yards behind the scene unfolding before his eyes. "You're a complete wreck."

"But I feel fine!" He squirmed against her weak hold. "I'm a Saiayn. I can take a little pain. It means nothing to me, and I have to get stronger than Kakarot." The last part was weak, his voice fading, as though he were talking to himself.

"Okay sure, we all know you're a tough guy, but you need to rest now."

Yamcha blinked, wondering how it was possible that his girlfriend was still alive. He knew once the Saiyan healed, they'd both be in for a beating just for seeing him like this.

"I take orders from no one." He grumbled, before finally succeeding in shoving her off. However, without her hands for support, he slumped clumsily and collided painfully with the earth. His teeth gritted as he stared down at the planet. He was really looking forward to destroying it. It was a peaceful thought, and his last, before everything became black.

"You lunkhead," she whispered as soon as her parent's exited the room. The door clicked shut, and Vegeta stirred. She wasn't sure if it was her words or the door. Frowning, she turned away with a shake of her head. Bulma hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She wasn't sure why she'd felt any remorse over Vegeta's current state. He'd done nothing but prove her theory correct. Over and over again she'd mumbled about his reckless training habits, and how he was on some sort of suicide mission. And now he lay unconscious on his bed, hooked up to medical equipment all because of a training accident.

She lowered her hand and twisted the handle, but a faint noise stopped her. Turning, she watched as Vegeta twitched in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. She couldn't make out his words, but she could tell by the twist of his mouth, the tightening of his jaw, and the way his brows narrowed above his clinched eyes that his dream was not a peaceful one.

With one last glance at the door, Bulma took a seat at his empty desk. A shadow of a smile inched its way across her features as she watched the prince's fist tighten. "Well whadya know, Vegeta. We may be better friends than I thought.

With a gasp, Vegeta jolted up. His head throbbed, and there was a mask over his mouth. He frowned, pulling it away and catching his breath, having to breathe on his own. He'd been having a dream, he realized. Though it was more of a reality than a nightmare. Tormented by his past, Frieza, and the pair of Super Saiyans, each taunting him with their power - a power that was unattainable to him.

He was the one with warrior blood in his veins, he thought, his fists clinching around the bed sheets. Kakarot and the boy from the future were not princes. They were inferior. He turned, pulling himself out of bed when something caught his eye. He scowled. The woman was sitting at his desk, her head resting on her folded arms as she slept. Peacefully.

Yes, he remembered. She had been there, helping him pull himself out of the wreckage. However, that did not explain why she remained at his bedside. With a frown, he freed his veins from the remainder of the medical equipment, and got to his feet, not bothering to tear off the bandages on his chest, or the gauze wrapped around his brow, forearms, and thighs.

Without another thought regarding the woman or the dream, Vegeta left the room, planning on continuing his training at 400 G's.

The door was thrust open, and Bulma awoke with a start. Bringing her hands to her hair, she fixed her scattered curls and frowned at the empty bed.

"He's awake."

"You were here," Yamcha commented, watching his girlfriend from the doorway, "while he slept." It was a question in form, but his tone held none of its intended inflection.

"He was having a bad dream."

"A bad dream Bulma? Seriously?" He took a step forward, but only a single one, not wanting to be fully in the Saiyan's room. "Have you completely forgotten that he's an ass?"

"No," Bulma deadpanned, watching her boyfriend. Yamcha was clearly angry with her for some reason. He glanced into the empty hallway before shutting the door. She continued, "but he was hurt."

"Bulma, I understand you giving him a place to stay, but that doesn't mean you have care about him."

"Care about him?" She rolled her eyes at the absurd implication. "Are you serious?"

"Well? What am I supposed to believe?"

"Oh, I don't know," she sighed, obviously frustrated. "I thought he was on our side now."

"Our side? No one else on our side tosses death threats in your face. Or has he stopped with those?"

"No," Bulma began, "but if I remember correctly, you weren't any better when we met."

"I was a thief Bulma. That guy's a psychopath! He's murdered billions. Can you even comprehend that? I mean, how can you even begin to forgive someone who…"

She sighed, her mind still tired from being awakened from her nap. "I'm taking a lesson from Goku."

"It took everyone here to beat him. Goku, Krillin, even a sneak attack from Yajirobe. If he'd had his way, we'd all be dead."

"But he helped us on Namek, and he's going to help us against the Androids." It was not too long ago her friends had been convincing her of the same thing. "You heard what the kid said. In the other timeline, everyone died. We're going to need him trying his hardest if we want to make it."

Yamcha nodded. He knew she was right, they did need him, but that didn't mean she had to sit diligently by his bedside! "He got me killed, Bulma! Or have you continently forgotten that, too?

"Oh. You're still on that…" She rolled her eyes, getting to her feet. "You know, you have chip on your shoulder the size of Vegeta's ego. I swear!"

"Bulma…"

"The thing is, nearly everyone started off as our enemy. You tried robbing Goku and I. Tien was a ruthless warrior, and Krillin was Goku's rival. Heck, we've even forgiven Piccolo, and now he's on our side."

It was difficult, but she could foresee a future where Vegeta, like the remainder of their friends, gathered to help fight the enemies of their planet. If this pattern held up, she hoped that at least one of the Androids would be a female. Their group needed a few tough ladies around. Besides, she'd seen Krillin pick at the label of his beer on more than one occasion, a sure sign of sexual frustration. She pictured a metallic robot, wearing a bow, strolling hand in hand with Krillin. At her laugh, Yamcha glared at her.

"You can't take anything seriously, Bulma. We're adults, but we act like teenagers most of the time. Our relationship is the same as it way from day one. I'm going to train in the desert for a little while, maybe you can…"

His voice trailed, the threat of something hanging in the air. She got the gist of it; the conversation wasn't anything new. However, before he had the chance to continue, she heard the simulator humming in the distance. Through Yamcha's temporary silence, she became aware of something that was actually quite obvious.

"That bastard," she mumbled. Bulma turned and left the room, leaving her boyfriend standing, slack jawed and alone in Vegeta's room. He blinked as he felt her ki race downstairs, and into her personal lab.

"Decide how you feel," he finished lamely, turning to find Puar so they could leave Capsule Corps. and get some serious training done.

"Stop it Vegeta!"

He groaned at the voice, and the irritable woman glaring at him in the projection. If he remained silent and continued training, perhaps she would believe that he couldn't hear her.

The blasted female, however, continued. Her volume only intensified at being ignored. "You are in no condition to be doing this right now! I know you don't want hear it, but you are made of flesh and blood."

"Stop pestering me woman!" He shouted, glaring at the screen, and the woman looking down on him with her set frown and her big, stupid hair. Her eyes were narrowed, as if he could be threatened by her glare. He scuffed. "Leave me alone."

Letting his anger get the best of him, Vegeta shifted, and the intense gravity bore down on his beaten frame. He knew he wasn't fully healed when he'd entered the Chamber that afternoon, but he was still surprised that his small slipup left him laying on the ground. His fists compressed as the woman continued her screeching.

"You know I'm right. So why don't you keep quiet and just do as I say," she demanded, her expression haughty. His fists tightened, finger pressing into the tender, burnt flesh of his palm. "Nothing to say? Well that's a first. Now go back to bed and get some rest."

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice throaty. It was difficult enough to breathe inside the chamber with his bruised lungs, and talking in his condition seemed painful. Bulma's expression faltered; a look of concern flickered across her features. "I do have something to say."

"Is something wrong?" The haughty glint was back in her eyes. "Or maybe you're finally going to apologize to me."

"Leave me alone!"

"Uh…" She sputtered, shocked by the fury in his tone. She'd helped free him from the rubble, she'd sat by his bed while he tossed in his sleep, and she'd tried to keep him from working himself to death so he could heal properly. Fine, she thought, if he didn't want her help, she'd be sure to not go out of her way for him again. Shaking her head, she shot one last glance at the Saiyan Prince before terminating their connection.

Two days past. Nothing to do in the lab, and not wanting to bother with Vegeta, Bulma found herself seated once again with her mother, drinking tea and eating pastries. It was fortunate that the pair of women were naturally fit, but Bulma still wondered if she should take after the men in her life and do a little working out of her own.

The men in her life? She nearly laughed. Yamcha had disappeared without even finishing his 'we're on a break' speech. She'd returned to the Compound to find he and Puar gone. There had been no word from Goku, and she'd pushed all thoughts of Vegeta aside.

"Vegeta's still training? Oh my. That man works so hard."

"Mo-ther, can we just forget about him?" She glanced outside, the Gravity Chamber deflecting the beams of sunlight as it hummed on her lawn. "I mean, he hasn't come out of that capsule in days."

"I must say, I'm becoming quite impressed by that boy's unshakable determination. Why just the other day he was training at four hundred times Earth's gravity. Isn't that amazing?" Her father chimed in, his kitty squealing in affirmation on his shoulder. He rewarded the cat, rubbing him behind his ears, the cat purring as it snuggled against the doctor's shoulder.

Bulma rolled her eyes. Apparently her entire family was Team Saiyan. Even the cat...

"Oh, he's nothing but a thick headed ape…"

Truthfully, though, she missed his bickering. Without Yamcha or Vegeta, she was almost lonely, and she was nearly always bored.

"Perhaps you can help me design some sturdier bots before dinner," Dr. Briefs said, his eyes never leaving the ship.

She sighed, but with nothing better to do, she nodded. It would be to help her father, she assured herself, and most certainly not for the arrogant, freeloading prince.

His more superficial wounds had healed, and the others were on their way, but he still found himself wishing for a regeneration tank. Perhaps if he asked the woman… No, he thought, punching a bot harder than necessary, watching as the material bent at the force of his fist. He would not approach the woman. After their conversation through the Gravity Chamber's projector, she'd done something strange. She'd listened to him. He'd demanded to be left alone, and she'd done exactly that. True, their encounters were few and far between before, and neither had exactly gone out of their way to seek the other's company, but he only associated himself with three beings on this planet, and she just so happened to be his favorite.

Not that that was saying much of anything. He hated everyone on this planet, and she was no exception. He'd just found that he could put up with the ballsy little female more so than the others. He'd also noticed that, after their conversation, the scar-faced human had disappeared, taking the little blue cat with him. Those two, he decided, could stay as far away as they wished.

Lowering himself to the ground, Vegeta increased the chamber from 410 to 450. He'd been able to effortlessly flip through the air at the increase from four hundred to four-ten, but the sudden augmented gravity made his knees buckled. Sweat dripped from his brow, to the bridge of his nose, as he pushed himself to stand on his shaky limbs. It was difficult to stand, yes, but he was not like the weak human that had snuck into his chamber. When the pressure was too intense, he pushed through until it was easy to withstand the force.

"Soon Kakarot," he murmured, ignoring the pain in his side, and taking to the air, "I will defeat you."

Bulma twisted the tiny screwdriver in place, absentmindedly tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She hummed to herself as she tweaked the bot, while her father welded a newly formed metal composition in place.

"You really think he won't be able to put a dint in this?"

He father shook his head. "I don't think there's a material that man won't be able to break. At least none on this planet." And then, he added as an afterthought, "and if there were, I'm sure he'd keep trying until he found a way, just to spite us."

Bulma smiled. Her father seemed to enjoy Vegeta's persistence. And, in a way, they both thrived for the challenge. She, however, was less able to ignore certain things. Perhaps, if she tried to be more like her father and focus on the positive, she could better tolerate the Saiyan's presence.

No, she frowned. It still caused her gut to tighten, her lips to twist into frustrated scowl. So, instead, she thought of other things as she idly twisted the new panel into place.

When she wasn't thinking of Vegeta, her mind imminently switched to Yamcha. What was wrong with her? She was a strong, independent woman. She wasn't to be governed by men. Yet, at times it felt like all she could concentrate on.

"You're going to strip that screw," her father commented from beneath his welding mask, "if you keep tightening it like that."

"Oh," she blushed, removing the tool from the screw's head.

There was no word from Yamcha, and she knew it was probably in her hands to initiate the apology this time. Apparently she'd been the one in the wrong, playing nurse to a man who'd had her boyfriend killed. Or ex-boyfriend. She shrugged, unsure.

She wasn't angry about Yamcha's accusation; she just didn't care. The last time all of her friends had gathered, the day the boy from the future had come and defeated Frieza, and Goku had arrived back on Earth, Yamcha had told her he was ready to settle down. Bulma was still confused by Goku's words. With a casual wave, he'd told her to take care of her baby. Perhaps he'd assumed, in three years time she and Yamcha would actually take the next step, start a family. It sure hadn't taken he and Chichi long.

Still, she couldn't see herself as a mother, and certainly not as Yamcha's wife. With a sigh, she twisted the other side of the panel in place, and decided not to call Yamcha and apologize. She had nothing to distract her, and maybe she'd try and live up to her words. No boys, no complications, just assisting her dad in helping Vegeta. Then, maybe, after they all survived the Androids, she could think about things like babies and marriage. Though, not necessarily in that order.


	4. Chapter 4

She ran a hand through her hair, patting down the inevitable flyaways while smoothing her curls. From her hair, her hand swept over her forehead, rubbing at her tired eyes, and finally pressing against her mouth as she stifled a yawn before dropping at her side.

Pausing in the kitchen to check the time, Bulma's stomach growled. "Four o'clock…" she mumbled, opening the refrigerator and staring at its contents. Vegeta had yet to eat since her last meal, as it remained largely the same since lunch, and when the Saiyan ate there was sure to be a dent in the oversized, well-stocked fridge. She was surprised that they'd each skipped dinner, but more so that it was past four in the morning and he was still training.

It was far too late for a midnight snack, so she removed the milk and eggs, deciding to make breakfast before going to bed. Spinning around on her heels, she nearly dropped both.

"Vegeta," she sighed, setting the cartons safely on the counter. Her eyes roved over his equally tired features, before nodding silently and turning around. Digging through the pantry, she made no move to cast the Saiyan another look. He'd startled her, standing in the doorway looking harsh beneath the florescent lights of the kitchen. The lighting was in stark contrast to the darkness outside, and as soon as her heart began to beat normally once more, she spoke up, "Breakfast?"

The Saiyan shrugged. She could not see it from her position, but she did hear the telltale sounds of a stool scraping against tile. When she turned, enough flour in hand to feed a hungry Saiyan, she cast him a small, lethargic smile. "We're having waffles."

"Hn."

She then removed several sticks of butter from the fridge. "Mom says you like them, and I've been wanting to try out dad's latest modification." Bulma smiled as she mixed the ingredients, easily quadrupling the suggested batter. She knew it was probably strange that she, a self-proclaimed genius, had yet to memorize a recipe as simple as waffles, but she'd always been more comfortable in the lab than the kitchen. Still, though, with a recipe in hand, there was no way she could screw it up. It was chemistry, she reminded herself as she measured out the flour. Precise to the core, she ran a knife over the top of the dry measuring cup before adding it to the batter.

Vegeta said nothing as he watched the woman work. Her eyes narrowed in concentration, the same way they'd been when he'd seen her absorbed in some task in her lab. He was still taken aback that this woman was a mechanical genius. It seemed strange, what with all the idiotic winking she'd done and the way she mouthed off inane insults to someone clearly stronger than her. But, still, there was proof of her abilities; it was in the armor on his chest, and the various contusions on his flesh, fresh wounds from her upgraded bots.

The blue haired woman fumbled with a contraption, eventually succeeding in removing it from the cabinet. She laughed, shaking her head, and caught his glare with a grin. "I think my dad enjoys having you around far too much."

He said nothing, only continued to watch as she poured the batter into the bulky device.

Bulma's smile remained as she individually filled each waffle iron. The moment her mother had commented that Vegeta seemed quite taken with them her father had taken it upon himself to develop the multi-waffle iron. Bulma would have scuffed at the ridiculous appliance, but her father had already made several sales to various summer camps.

Closing the device, all there was to do was wait.

"Late night," she spoke, interrupting the suffocating silence of the kitchen. It was neither odd nor uncomfortable, but as she watched Vegeta's face, dark circles beneath his eyes, she found herself curious. He was bruised and bloodied, and his forearm was sporting a particular nasty looking burn. Her handiwork, most likely, and she was itching to find out if the bots were to his approval.

He shrugged. "Time here is inconsequential. I train until I am too tired, and I eat when I am hungry." His mind was drowsy, and he could do little else but state the obvious.

Nodding, she watched the steam continue to seep from the sides of the waffle iron, not wanting to make eye contact. "How are the new bots?"

"Sufficient."

She rolled her eyes. Apparently it was too much of a hassle for the prince to speak to her in full sentences. Though it was four in the morning, and despite her fatigue, she was in desperate need for a little human contact. Or, perhaps in Vegeta's case, not so human. "It was my idea to have them absorb energy, rather than just deflect it. The heat seeking technology isn't particularly innovative, but I do hope you can take the blasts you dish out."

"I would be a rather pathetic warrior if I could not."

She shrugged as their breakfast stopped steaming. Opening the iron and piling the waffles on a plate, she replied; "I suppose so."

She sat the plates on the counter, and between them a bottle of syrup. Neither spoke for the remainder of their meal. When they were done, they exchanged a nod and went to their respective rooms.

Reclining in her bed, Bulma determined they'd shared a meal as decent, civilized people. It was four a.m. breakfast before bed, but still, a meal. Impressed, a smile inched across her features, but she was far too exhausted to analyze anything further.

Fighting off his fatigue, Vegeta stepped into the shower stall. He closed the glass door, which was thick with condensation, and inhaled the concentrated steam.

When he'd crashed on this planet, returning only because he'd had nowhere better to go, the first thing the woman had done was shove him into a shower. Like everything on this planet, their cleaning mechanism was strange and inefficient, but he'd voice none of these opinions as he'd washed himself.

In space, he'd been accustomed to stepping into the cylindrical wash, where a cleansing solution would mist until one was sterile. Quick, clean, effective – the order that he was used to. Earthlings, however, were quite fond of their cleaning method, and stood for long periods of time beneath a curtain of warm water. He could almost admit that it was relaxing, and it did soothe his aching muscles after seventeen hours of high-gravity training. Also, it reminded him of the hot rainfall from his home.

Not that Vegeta had many memories of Vegetasei, and of those few none had anything to do with the makeup or geography of the planet itself. Years ago, when he was on a planet in the S-quadrant years ago, feasting beneath the sweltering downpour, Nappa had mentioned that it was just how it rained on their planet.

In his lifetime, Nappa would make the occasional offhanded comments regarding their home. As a boy, and even more so as a teenager once his own memories had faded, the young prince always listened intently to what his, for lack of a better term, mentor said. He'd tuck such nuggets of information away to a safe place in his mind. They would remain useless to him, of course, only serving to bring him pain as he struggled to make connections with the memories that were not his own. Like how the showers on Earth were like the rain on his planet.

His fist slammed against the shower wall, a half dozen splintering cracks staring back at him as a result of his temporary slip of temper. Showers on Earth may have been relaxing, but the process was entirely too long. Vegeta was helpless but to stand there, mist playing off his skin, steam rising around his calves, and reflect on the home world he could not remember. He was too young, too weak to save it, but it was intolerable to forget it. So even if Kakarot was the one to avenge their people, they were avenged. There was little else to do but be a Saiyan. It was all he had left.

It was almost twelve thirty when Bulma finally climbed out of bed. Despite the time, and her mother's cheery greeting from the table, Bulma groaned as she made a new pot of coffee.

As she waited for the caffeine to brew, she glanced outside the large, bay windows to see the Gravity Chamber was on. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she turned to her mother.

"How long has he been at it?"

"Oh," Mrs. Briefs shrugged, face pensive; the housekeeping magazine lay temporarily forgotten in her lap. "A few hours now."

Bulma shook her head. How was it possible to function with so little sleep? Vegeta had been going at it relentlessly lately, but she knew they'd gone to bed at the same hour. It seemed physically impossible to take on another day of training at 400-g's with less than five hours of sleep. Yes, his makeup may have made him sturdier than the average human, but surely he required rest…

"He's just so-"

"Mother," Bulma interrupted, just as the coffee pot beeped. She pulled the pot with more force than necessary, glaring down at the dark liquid. "Can we not get into this?"

"Oh?" Her mother asked, tilting her head to the side as she watched her daughter pour herself a cup of coffee. "I would have thought you'd noticed. It's nearly one o'clock. What kept you up so late last night?"

At the suggestive wiggle of her mother's eyebrows, Bulma flushed. She then leaned back against the counter, trying to look casual. "I was working."

"Well I for one wish you'd spend less time in that lab of yours," she surveyed her daughter. Bulma looked especially flustered, but underneath the fire she appeared tired and pale. "You should go outside, get some sun. I know I'd be parading around in my bikini if a hunk like that was staying at my house."

"He is staying at your house," Bulma sighed, taking a sip from her mug and feeling the warm liquid go to work. She already felt more awake, but that probably had more to do with her mother's choice of conversation than the strong caffeine.

"Oh hush dear," Mrs. Briefs giggled. "I'm a married woman." Another long look at her daughter. "And you're not getting younger, you know…"

Her blue eyes narrowed.

"Besides," her mother continued, shrugging off the heated glare her daughter was shooting her, "I'm about ready for some grandchildren."

Bulma frowned. "I doubt you want any half-Saiyan grandchildren, mom."

"Oh? But Goku's boy is so nice."

"That's because he's Goku's boy. Imagine little Vegetas running around," she shuddered. "No thanks."

"Okay, okay," her mother shrugged, her nose back in her magazine. "Don't have grandchildren, but do me one favor?"

Standing in silence, contemplating things, Bulma shifted her weight. The mug was resting against her pursed lips, and she knew she should approach any favor her mother requested tentatively. "Yes?"

"At least have some fun. Loosen up," winking, Mrs. Briefs giggled. "You could use it."

Turning on her heels, Bulma released a thwarted sigh, but said nothing more. Any and all frustration of that respect was because her boyfriend had slipped out of her house without saying bye. He was probably off in some desert, training to his hearts content. When he returned, he would have probably forgotten that they were 'off' when he'd left.

"Hello dear," her father said as she entered their lab.

Bulma placed her coffee mug on her worktable, but only nodded in reply. She hoped to avoid a second awkward conversation with her other parent. Though she doubted her father would make any move to push her into bed with the Saiyan Prince.

She poured herself into her work, staring at the schematics on her computer screen. So engrossed in her work, she hadn't noticed when her father left for a smoke break, or when someone entered her lab until they were hovering over her. When she did catch that she was being looked, well glowered, at she shrieked.

"Vegeta," she inhaled, filling her lungs with a calming breath. He was frowning at her surprised reaction, and she leaned back in her chair, blinking away the dots skewing her vision.

"Ug," she mumbled, shaking her head, "how long have I been staring at that screen?" Cracking open an eye, she saw that he was still standing there. She knew he was only here to make demands, or to insult her intelligence. Neither of which she felt up to dealing with. Not today. "Vegeta, I'm really tired, and kind of busy right now. Can I take a rain check on this assuredly lovely tête-à-tête?"

"These bots are inefficient," he said, and she saw three of the six training machines laying in a heap on the floor. Two of the bots looked like they'd been melted together.

"You dork!" Bulma snapped, eyes still on the pile of metal. "We just modified those yesterday!"

"And I told you today, they are inept."

"You, you," she sputtered, turning her attention to the Saiyan. Shaking her head, she tried to gather her composure. "Sorry bud, but you're just going to have to wait. Maybe next time you'll learn to be a little more careful with your toys."

"Do you have a death wish, human?"

"Not particularly, no." She chewed on her lower lip, reminding herself that Vegeta not only had the ability to destroy her, but the background that suggested he wouldn't hesitate to do otherwise. "But I would appreciate it if you would at least try and be less of an ass," she grinned, "how about a simple 'please'?"

"How about you fix the damn bots so I don't blast you."

She sighed. "Well Bulma," she murmured to her self, "you tried." Spinning herself around in her chair, she went back to studying her computer screen. The energy in the room was still electric, she could feel the static from his crackling energy, and the suffocating presence of her housemate never lifted. Tilting her head, she caught Vegeta's glare. "The bots?"

His features hardened, but he remained silent.

"Yes," she nodded. "Well, if I finish this today, I can maybe have them ready by tomorrow. Maybe."

"Hn," he snorted, before turning and leaving the room. Bulma watched as he marched off, the taught, contoured muscles of his ass visible in his shorts. It wasn't the first time she'd been happy with the Saiyan's wardrobe. Not that she'd ever do anything about it, but Bulma Briefs was never one to pass up on some good eye candy.

"Right Bulma," she mumbled, blinking at the half-finished equation before her, vision still spotted. "Work."

And she concentrated for hours, typing out a new program. She was unsure how long she'd been at it, and was unaware how her head ached and her eyes burnt until her cell phone chirped at her computer desk as she turned away from the screen. Blinking, she released a painful moan, and picked it up.

"Yamcha," she mumbled into the device, eyes sliding closed to ward off the agonizing lights in her lab. "Hello."

"Hey babe," his voice slurred on the other end.

Her jaw subconsciously tightened, and she glanced at the time. "Yamcha," she repeated, trying to keep the anger in her voice in check. "It's midnight. What's up?"

"Come to Eclipse with me."

"Eclipse?" She asked, though assuming it was probably only one of those sleazy clubs with one-word names.

"Yeah, it's this new club in downtown West City." He spoke, over the thumping bass and shouting. "The boys from the team went out, but I miss you."

"Miss me?" She choked out, blinking. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and tried to steady her nerves. Was he serious? "You're in West City?" Bulma blurted. "I thought you were training."

"I've been training," he sighed. Though she did notice that his voice was more pulled together, as though he were sobering up. "It's midnight babe; take a break."

"I thought you were training in the desert."

"Bulma, I'm going soon." She heard him answer, and she listened as a door swung closed, the background noise muffled as he stepped outside. Or into the restrooms, she wasn't sure. "Look, I'm sorry I called."

"Yeah," she rubbed her eyes, saving her work before shutting her computer down. "I'm sorry, too."

"I've been stressed out, and I know you have been working hard." He chuckled. "A drink or two would do you so some good."

"Goodnight, Yamcha," she said, getting to her feet. She felt worn and angry. He mumbled a goodbye, and she closed her phone, staring at the screen for a while with a blank expression. As she exited the lab, turning off the lights and securing the door, she decided that Yamcha did have a point.

"I could use a drink or two."

And so Bulma found herself staring into the open liquor cabinet in the Brief's family room. She surveyed its contents, her eyes roving over her father's prized liquor collection and her mother's aged wines before settling on a bottle on the bottom shelf.

She entered the kitchen where Vegeta was seated at the table, eating leftovers. He didn't spare her a glance as she pulled out a glass, even as she remained in the kitchen, watching him from the corner of her eye as he ate.

"Vegeta," she spoke, holding up the bottle of dark liquid, it's contents swirling as result of her gesture. "Drink?"

He glanced in her direction, but remained silent as the woman pulled out a second glass and mixed them each a drink. Bulma reasoned that it was less depressing to have a drink with a mass murderer than it was drinking alone. Her lips tugged into a smile as she reasoned her logic may have been a bit flawed, but also that there may have been something fundamentally wrong with her. She'd just laughed off the fact that Vegeta was the executioner of billions, as though it were a forgivable act now that he was living under her roof and helping her planet. And, more notably, now that he seemed a decent drinking buddy. It wasn't okay, she decided, but there wasn't much she could do about his past, nor his future. A future in which he planned to try and kill Goku and everyone she knew. Her included. Presently he made no move to fall back on his old habits, and he'd actually been quite civil recently. So she extended him the drink after he'd polished off his meal, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

When the quiet become more than she could handle, Bulma's hand tightened around her drink. "Yamcha's cheating on me."

At her sudden declaration, Vegeta tilted his head, watching as the woman leaned her backside against the counter. She seemed very interested in the sweat beading on her glass, her large, blue eyes watching the trickle with intensity.

The Saiyan made no move to show that he cared about her words, nor even heard them.

"Or maybe he's not," she continued, taking her straw and stabbing at the bottom of her glass; the melting cubes breaking into pieces. "Maybe I don't care anymore."

Vegeta surveyed the woman, wondering why she bothered wasting her energy on such a frivolous matter. "He is an idiot." It wasn't a testament to this woman; he was just stating a fact.

"Yeah," she sighed, meeting Vegeta's dark eyes. "You know, he couldn't even talk to girls until after he met me."

"After he met me, he was destroyed by a pathetic Saibamen."

"He's still pretty upset about that, you know."

Vegeta shrugged, unsurprised. Being hated was nothing new to him, and he was neither excited nor angered by the prospect of the weak, scar-faced human's dislike. Being hated was like breathing to the Saiyan Prince, and he knew Yamcha would never try and fight him so there would be no fun to have out of their arrangement.

"I guess I'm sort of a bitch," Bulma said, blinking as she voiced her thoughts aloud. Vegeta snorted, and she couldn't help but grin. "Really. I mean, I spend most of my time being pissed at you for training too hard, and the remainder angry with Yamcha for not training hard enough."

"There is no such thing as working too hard," Vegeta said, taking a sip from his drink. Bulma watched as his dark brows narrowed in concentration, and felt the intensity of his gaze. Even now, he looked severe; though it was by far the most relaxed she'd ever seen him. There were signs of it, the way his jaw wasn't clinched and his arms hung casually at his side. Plus, he was drinking. Surely that would do to loosen him up. Though Bulma had taken a look at his blood chart, and given his anatomy his alcohol tolerance was likely astounding. Nothing compared to her, or her slurring boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend, of that she was still uncertain.

Another pregnant silence settled between them, and Bulma battled with herself about steering their conversation in a direction that she'd never dreamt she'd one day discuss so casually with the Saiyan Prince. However, she was desperate to talk to someone, anyone, and there were only so many 'safe' conversations to have with Vegeta. "Has Goku gotten any stronger?" She asked, sucking an ice cube in her mouth. It was cold, and she crunched it between her teeth, trying to stay aloof as a quake of tension stiffened his frame.

"He is a Super Saiyan," he finally said, voice even. "I did not think it possible to become stronger than that, but it appears he's done so."

She nodded, watching as he flexed his fist in his lap. Another swallow of liquid courage, and she made eye contact with him. "You'll be a Super Saiyan." Her voice was sure, confident. "You're more of a warrior than him. He transformed out of emotion, sheer need. You'll get there through dedication and training."

Vegeta blinked at her words. He wanted to tell her that it felt so distant, nearly impossible. Of course, he was not one to voice such insecurities aloud to anyone, and certainly not to a weak, alien female. Besides, his uncertainty was unsettling; he had not entirely admitted it to himself. So he grunted, "Eventually."

She gave a short, humorless laugh. "Yes, eventually. Let's just hope when that day comes Goku's twice whatever a Super Saiyan is so you don't go turning Earth into planetary debris."

Bulma didn't miss the way his relaxed persona melted at the mention of his defeat at the hands of his rival. "You could stay here, you know."

A dark brow arched at her suggestion.

"I just mean that Goku was able to settle down, start a family. And he's happy here. Earth isn't such terrible place."

"I am nothing like Kakarot."

She sighed, running her fingers along the side of her drink, wiping at the condensation, leaving dry tendrils. "I know. You're like night and day. But you're still both the same, fundamentally." Her lips quipped into a smile. "Okay, so perhaps not fundamentally. Can I tell you something?"

His lips twitched downward into a frown. She never asked permission for anything, and she certainly didn't look like she was waiting for it now. Taking a long swish from his glass, he said nothing in reply.

"I was kind of freaked out when I found he had a kid," she shook her head, as though it was still mind-boggling. "Sometimes he's such a child himself and…" she frowned, "and truthfully, I'm more shocked that he's not a virgin."

It was the first time she'd heard Vegeta laugh. The sound was more of a cross between a surprised snicker and a malicious chuckle, but it was passable laughter. She swelled with pride at the thought that the sound had surfaced because of her.

"I'm serious," she laughed, though hers was much more jovial sounding. "He used to have to go around patting at girls' privates to ensure they weren't packing heat."

"Yes, I am surprised that he figured out where to put it."

Bulma snorted unattractively, both surprised and amused by Vegeta's observation. "That was probably Chichi's doing. I'm sure she pushed him into bed the way she pushed him down the aisle." She took another sip from her glass; the burning liquid made her shudder. "And now that lucky bastard is getting more than me."

Vegeta emptied the remainder of his drink in a single gulp, not admitting that he too had had the very thought. Bulma moved to fill both glasses, and they once again settled into silence. There was no humming of the Gravity Chamber, or random noises from the lab. It was dark and quiet outside, and only a single kitchen light illuminated the pair.

"You're really going to try and kill him?"

"Hn."

"I wonder, if he'd been raised as a Saiyan, do you think he would have been different?"

Vegeta stared into his glass, his jaw shifting. "Vastly."

"I don't know." She shrugged, the alcohol switching her into philosophical mode. It was why her college friends, and at times Yamcha, avoided drinking with her. "It's that age-old dispute; are we born innocent and then corrupted by the world? Or do you think we're all intrinsically evil, but certain societies condition us to be moral?"

He surveyed her for a long moment, as though he were really contemplating her words. "I've seen much of it, and the universe is not a pure place."

"I suppose," she frowned. Meeting his eyes, a shadow of a smile on her lips, she continued, "but I think there's a little good in you."

He frowned.

"And I think there's a bit too much of this," she continued, swirling her drink, "in me."

And yet he hadn't killed her, hadn't yelled at her or outright threatened her that evening. It was a cosmic improvement. Emptying her drink, the alcohol and the late hour catching up with her, she smiled.

"Sleep well, Vegeta."

Turning to leave the room, she only half waited for the response that never came.

Before closing her bedroom door, she cast one last fleeting look into the empty hallway. He wouldn't disappear back into the Gravity Chamber, would he? No, if he were planning on training, he would have never let her delay him. His sleep, however, seemed something he was more willing to put off.

When she finally collapsed into her bed, Bulma wondered what was wrong with her. Surely something in her had snapped now that she suddenly preferred pointless conversations with Vegeta over drinks than getting hammered and dancing the night away with Yamcha. Nevertheless, what she'd said was true. There was a little, tiny bit of something decent in him. She was sure of it.


	5. Chapter 5

"What do you mean _broken_?" She shouted, spinning on her heel and fixing her glare on the Saiyan standing in her lab. He was irritable, true, but she was beyond pissed. Hands on her hips, one fisting a wrench and the other a spotted rag, Bulma tried her best to channel her fury. Never mind that she was smeared with engine grease, and her curly hair was twisted into an untidy bun at the base of her skull. She realized she probably looked more ridiculous than intimidating, but there was a lethal glint in her eyes that the prince did not miss. Not that her unbridled anger did anything but serve to amuse him slightly.

"Are you hard of hearing? I said the pathetic contraption is broken." He released a breathy snort. "Again."

"Yes. Again," she deadpanned, trying to reel in her anger. It wouldn't do to go screeching at a man who could snap her like a twig, something she was reminding herself rather frequently as of late. "And why do you keep _breaking_ it?"

"It is weak. It requires upgrades immediately."

"Requires?" She snapped. "Dammit Vegeta, I don't know why I bother fixing anything for you. You'll just turn around and break it, and then blame my shoddy craftsmanship."

His eyes roamed over her while she mouthed off, and he frowned. "You look awful."

"Awful?" Bulma blinked, anger still intact. Crossing her arms, she lifted her nose into the air and sniffed. "I'll have you know that I am the most beautiful woman on this planet."

Vegeta had not seen enough earthlings to know whether or not this was the case, not that he cared to associate himself with _more_ humans. He had no qualms with admitting that she was attractive in the physical sense; a fact he'd admitted to on Namek. Had he less control, he would have pondered all the different ways he could benefit from her lithe body. To bend her over the cluttered worktable, or to press her against the flat plane of the ship she was repairing. But he had far more control than that, so he avoided looking at her bare legs and her flushed, heaving chest, and frowned. "Perhaps that is so. But currently, you look like shit."

"Arg!" She growled, and though her tone was defensive and obviously frustrated, she did self-consciously tug on her wrinkled, soiled top and pat down her hair.

"Where is your father?" He asked. "He is far less complacent than you."

"He's busy. I'll let him know that you once again broke the Chamber, but I can't guarantee he'll do anything about it today."

"Hn," Vegeta snorted, and moved to the other side of the lab. The woman did not watch him leave, and as she lacked the ability to sense his power level she did not see that he lingered.

Vegeta watched her, the unbalanced, harebrained woman who had somehow become his closest acquaintance since his arrival on Earth. Moments ago she was shaking with fury, and now she was smiling to herself as she tightened a bolt.

He was aware that his purpose in life had been narrowed considerably as of late. In a single move, Kakarot had ascended to the legendary and killed Frieza; his two goals in life tacked off by the grinning, idiotic, low-class Saiyan. It was so maddening, in fact, that it caused little sensation aside from a dull, irritating numbness. His new life goals still centered on becoming the strongest, but he knew nothing would be sufficiently satisfying to alleviate the sting of defeat. No, killing Kakarot would not solve anything. And a part of him understood that Kakarot was the last like him, and quite probably the only chance of carrying on their race. Vegeta also begged the man as he lay dying on Namek to kill Frieza, and he'd done just that. But, still, the revenge burning in his core eventually won out over his sound logic. Kakarot would have to die by his hands if a smidgen of his pride were to remain intact, and if he were to defeat Kakarot he'd have to become a Super Saiyan first.

There was another set of complications, though. Kakarot had personal training with kais under his belt, he learnt special techniques from alien races, and had ascended out of need and love and emotions that remained strange and fairytale to Vegeta. All Vegeta had in his own hand was his fierce, often reckless, motivation. That and, he begrudgedly admitted to himself, this woman.

"Fuck!" She shouted, her hand flying over her heart. She'd turned to grab for her power drill and found Vegeta leaning against a wall on the other side of the room. The room she'd been lead to believe she was alone in. His arms crossed, and one ankle tucked beneath the other, he arched a brown in question. Bulma frowned, and steadying her breath, asked as calmly as she could muster, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I have nothing to do."

"Well you can't just …" she flushed, turning her attention back to the door of the ship she was building to avoid eye contact with the prince, "watch me. It's creepy, Vegeta."

"Then fix the damn machine." He shrugged. "And I will go."

Another tired sigh, and Bulma cocked her head in his direction. "Will you give it a rest? I'm kind of in the zone with this thing."

"What is it?"

Her drill clanked against the floor of the lab, and she flexed the hand that had dropped it. Wetting her lips with her tongue, Bulma blinked. "What?"

He watched her surprise with an expressionless face. "What are you building?" How was it possible to be so smart and so dense all at once?

She was still taken aback by his interest in her work. Sure, it wasn't the most forthcoming way of asking her about her project, but no one apart from her father ever casually asked her what she was working on and seemed genuinely interested in it. Bulma grinned, and slapped her hand against the fragmentary door. "It's the newest prototype for the Cc Jet. Three times as fast as the last model, and designed by yours truly."

"Three times as fast?" He looked somewhat impressed.

Bulma sighed. "Of course, nothing like the ship you commandeered. This baby isn't intended for interplanetary travel, but then again it makes for a much more marketable product on a planet where all of the traveling is done here."

"Hn." His eyes scanned the vehicle, it's tangle of wires spilling out from the unfinished door, a weaving of vibrant colors that he didn't understand.

"Or the ship we took to Namek," she sighed wistfully, remembering how quickly it had traveled. Certainly unlike any technology they had readily available on Earth. "Or," she continued, a smile on her lips, "like the pod you and that big guy came here in."

"Nappa's pod," Vegeta said, face pinching in concentration. He'd gone to space before to search for Kakarot in the womans father's ship, but it was far slower than the pods he and Nappa had arrived in. Eventually he was going to leave this planet, and the quicker he got away from the explosion the better.

Bulma scratched her head. "Er, yeah. I kind of … um, well, I kind of blew it up. Accidently."

"What?" His eyes narrowed.

"Well, I…" She shrugged, going back to connecting wires. "Alien technology is just so new to me, s'all."

His fists clinched, but he reminded himself that there was still one escape method available at his disposal.

"Fix the chamber," he said, finally, after watching the woman work for entirely too long. "Or I swear I will rip you limb from limb, and I will enjoy every second of it."

"Yeah, yeah," she rolled her eyes, moving inside the ship to continue her tweaking without another look in his direction.

Vegeta blinked, wondering what was more infuriating, the fact that his death threats, which once held so much passion and sparked so much fear, were now only half-assed, or that the woman had so easily brushed him off. Perhaps the worst part of all, worse even than those things, was that he knew he would not be killing her that day. It was a strange feeling that engulfed him as he stepped onto her lawn and took to the air, no destination in mind. When had he become so pathetic? Before he'd spare killing no one, he hadn't even hesitated to kill his closest companion once he'd become worthless. Assuring himself it was only because the woman still had her uses, he frowned. That seemed to be only a part of it. An entirely too small part.

Maybe Kakarot hadn't hit his head; maybe Earth just made Saiyans soft. That had to be it. It was the oxygen, or maybe the water. The thought was there, too, that perhaps it was the Earthlings themselves, but he'd dismissed it before he had a second to ponder it further.

In the distance he felt Kakarot powering up, taunting him with his ki. He shook it off, and kept flying. And he flew; away from Kakarot, away from the broken Gravity Chamber that couldn't help him ascend, and away from the woman who rolled her eyes at a death threat delivered by one of the universes' most feared men.

* * *

After showering and dressing for bed, Bulma wandered downstairs, flipping on the living room light. She subconsciously frowned as her eyes scanned the room. It was still. No humming of the gravity chamber, or muffled voices from a distant room, just an eerie silence. It was almost ten o'clock, and though she knew her parents maintained normal sleeping schedules and were fast asleep, she found herself curious as to the whereabouts of her other houseguest.

After storming out of lab that afternoon, he hadn't turned up for the rest of the day. The Gravity Chamber remained broken, and not once had he demanded she fixed it. She'd slowly become accustomed to his disturbances, and even depended upon them to help break up her day. There had been no word from Yamcha since she'd blown him off about joining her at the club, and as usual no update from the remainder of her friends, all busily training for the Androids.

Entering the kitchen, she cast another glance at the empty yard, and poured herself a drink. Sitting at the table, she sighed, and took a small sip from her glass. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, momentarily forgetting about the stresses of her chaotic life, until a sound tore her away from her daydreams.

A glass had slid in front of her, and when she looked up to find the Saiyan Prince towering over her, she nearly choked. Making an unattractive show of coughing up some of the liquid, Bulma glanced back down at the empty glass before making eye contact with Vegeta.

Rubbing the liquid from her chin, she gave a soundless nod and reached for the liquor and soda in front of her, pouring him a drink.

Vegeta had never had an interest in drinking before, and felt it unwise to ever lower his inhibitions. He had far too many enemies in the depths of the universe, and bar fights were one of the key ways in which soldiers lost their lives. But the liquor here was not strong enough to get him drunk, and as much as he didn't want to believe it, the woman was not his enemy. The main reason he'd approached her, upon seeing her sitting alone at the kitchen table with a drink in hand, was because the last time they'd shared a drink had not been an unpleasant one. Not for her company, no, but the warm liquid served to calm his nerves and helped him sleep. It was the only time in weeks that he hadn't ripped through his sheets in agony and fury or fear, whichever his dreams stirred. He'd often been plagued by nightmares, and as much as he willed himself to brush them off he found that escaping them was a more agreeable option.

They sat in silence, Bulma stealing the occasional glance at the man on the other side of the table. His face was turned away from her, his dark eyes on the broken ship in the yard, as she studied his defined profile. His strong, sharp jaw and widow's peak, the way his brows twitched at whatever thoughts plagued his mind, and his princely posture, muscular shoulders back and spine straight. He really was something, she decided, blushing as she took another swig of her drink.

She'd admitted to him being attractive, yes, but there was something so powerful and untouchable about him that made her toes curl and insides warm for the first time. His armor was dirty, and she wondered where he'd been all day. She opened her mouth, but was at a loss for words.

"I still require the chamber to be completed."

Well, that settled her internal debate on what to discuss with him. "Yes. I'm nearly done with the Cc Jet. Tomorrow."

He nodded, but remained silent as he studied the liquor in his glass. Vegeta swirled the liquid, watching as it hugged the sides of the cup and sighed. He hadn't lingered because he was lonely, no; he was the epitome of a loner. Simply put, the Saiyan Prince did not get lonesome. He did, however, get bored.

"Tomorrow," he repeated, because he had little else to say. He contemplated pushing the boundaries of her temper, to demand that it be done sooner. Maybe pepper in a few insults and death threats, that usually got her riled up. However, the liquid was working to calm his nerves, and he simply shrugged. "And no later."

"Yeah," she smiled, eyes still on the handsome man, the feeling in her core startling her, "I'll get it done tomorrow. Promise."

She watched a surprised expression flitter across his features for the briefest of seconds, but when it was gone there was no trace of emotion. Bulma was convinced she'd seen it though, but she found herself once again memorized by his masculinity as a result of watching him so intently. How had she not noticed it before? After finishing her drink, she hurriedly shot up from the table.

In the liquor cabinet, she pulled out another bottom from the bottom shelf, and turning around slammed into the Saiyan's chest. Steadying herself, she took a step back and glanced up at the frowning man.

"I…" She murmured, gesturing to the bottle that was already in plain sight. He nodded absently, leaned forward, and inhaled against the side of her neck.

If Bulma felt flustered before, it had only intensified ten-fold. It was like a wall of masculinity - his body, his presence, and, for the first time, his scent - invading her senses. As though he'd exuded pheromones; it was the only explanation. She'd never, ever been this close to this man, and was fairly positive she'd never been so near anything remotely so masculine. It made her acutely aware of her petite frame and utter femininity, though she knew taking things any further would not make her feel any more like a lady. She was helpless to move as he pulled away, unbridled confusion in his eyes.

Bulma felt a tremor of betrayal to all those innocents Vegeta had slaughtered, because right now she could not care less about the evil things those hands had done, so long as they were on her, and soon. She moved and felt the moisture between her legs, and the Saiyan took another step back. Still though, he was close. His eyes lingered on her own, darting to her parted lips. Intuitively, her teeth clinched her bottom lip, and swore she heard his breath hitch.

Boldly, she took a step towards him, still gripping the sealed bottle of liquor in her sweaty palm. They were nearly touching, and she could smell him once again, could feel the heat of his body warming her own. They were close, far closer than they'd ever been, and she knew if she only tilted her head and leaned just a bit forward they'd be….

Her phone chirped, and she blinked, releasing the breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. Vegeta took another step back, and she rushed over to the table, turning off the phone alarm staring back at her.

"Talk about birth control," she mumbled, unsure if she was supposed to be angered or relieved by the interruption. Currently, she only felt confusion.

When she turned around, Vegeta was gone, his half empty drink forgotten at the table. Instead of pouring herself a new one, she downed his and deposited both glasses in the sink.

Head filled with thoughts of what she'd clearly _wanted_ to happen, and clearly hadn't and most likely never would, Bulma trudged upstairs. The following morning she'd discover she'd forgotten to take that little white pill.

* * *

The liquor was supposed to help him sleep better, but he found that the events of the evening had the opposite effect. One moment he'd been contemplating infuriating the woman, just to see her get riled up, and the next moment he'd smelt something in the air. It wasn't an uncommon scent, and certainly not an unpleasant one. Still, it was entirely unexpected, especially coming from her. It had been fear, panic radiating from her body.

He'd long since given up trying to read her, but for fuck's sake he'd never met a creature so difficult to comprehend. She'd been staring at him one moment, and he smelt her fear the next. When she darted from the table, he thought something must have been wrong. He should have _enjoyed_ the smell of her fear. It was something he'd had to refrain himself from beating into her. He'd thought he must have been mistaken, so he'd followed her into the place she stored her alcohol and took another long, careful survey of her scent.

Shock overtook him, because stronger than the fear was the smell of her arousal. The blasted woman had been _turned on_ by him, or at the very least turned on in his presence. And then she'd bit her lip and looked up at him, a lusty gleam in her eyes, and he'd hesitated.

His hand slammed against the Chamber's wall. The gravity was still broken, but it was a good enough place to train. And he had to hit _something_.

Somehow he'd gone from being confused by her fear to intrigued by her arousal. Even then he wondered if they'd gone through with it, would he have been upset? He'd certainly be less frustrated. It had been a long time since he'd had a good fuck, and the woman seemed vulgar and attractive enough to satiate his needs. It wasn't like they'd have to _talk_ about it afterwards.

"No," he muttered, dodging another blast. He would not be tempted by such a physically inferior woman, and certainly not one from _this_ blasted planet. She was a means to ascend, and nothing more.

Blasting a hole in the side of the ship, and knowing he was only further delaying her repairs, he exited the chamber and decided to call it a night. Then, more than ever, he could really have used some booze.

* * *

She'd dreamt of Vegeta once before. It had been prior to the arrival of the boy from the future and before Goku had turned up. It was when Vegeta had 'thanked' her for hospitality by stealing her ship and blasting off into space. She'd fallen asleep to angry thoughts of him, and had attributed the particular steamy dream simply to that. Last night's dream, however, she was having a more difficult time coming up with excuses for.

That morning she repaired the hole in the side of the Chamber, unaware that it had only come about from the previous night. Currently, she was rebooting the fail-safe. Upon running a series of tests, she'd determined that the only thing wrong with the gravity was that _someone_ had attempted to crank it up too high. She'd set the system to lock after 450-G's, incase there was a malfunction. Bulma didn't want blood on her hands, even Vegeta's.

When the door to her lab swung open, she glanced over as Vegeta strutted in in all his spandex glory. She knew something was wrong with her. Sure, she was slightly excited by the prospect of their shaky friendship, and he was hot as hell, but she'd never before felt any compulsion to get naked with him. She chocked it up to a temporary slip-up, something that wasn't going to happen again.

"Oh, hello Vegeta," she greeted, tipping her head as a light on the control panel blinked, signing power. "Come by to say hello?"

"Hn."

She watched another light flash, a smile plastered on her features. "You know, you're not the first man to seek out my company."

"I will seek you out for your _company_ when hell freezes over, woman." He watched her press a few buttons on the control panel. "Is it ready?"

"You know," she began, ignoring his question, "some say the ninth circle of hell is frozen."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Point?" She asked, and then shook her head. "No. Just thought you might like to know."

"Know? I have been to hell woman."

With a small laugh, she nodded. "Touché."

"So," he growled, clearly angered at having to repeat himself. "The Gravity Chamber?"

"Almost ready," she answered. Her work was done, and she moved to her desk, plopping onto her chair the wrong way, arms folding over the back of it as she watched the prince move about her lab. He glanced at some of her plans, and picked up a few odds and ends, studying them curiously before setting them back down. Suddenly, he stopped and his hand hovered over a device which remained unseen from her position.

"I should have known it was you." He grumbled, and Bulma watched as he lifted the object in question. Veget glared down at the green, gridded screen. "You're the only one of those idiots with a brain after all."

"Was that a compliment?" She feigned shock. "Well, perhaps hell _has_ frozen over."

Silence, and then she continued. "Would you still wish for immortality?"

"No."

"No?" She asked, genuine surprise in her voice. She watched as he tossed the radar back onto the table, and frowned.

"I only wanted it to defeat Frieza," Vegeta began. "There is no point of that now. Nothing to live for after I've defeated Kakarot."

Bulma nodded. She could get into the debts of having such a dreadful goal, but did not feel up to _that_ particular discussion. Not today, anyway. So, instead she grinned. "Yeah, but it seems like being immortal might come in handy."

"I don't wish to be immortal, blasted woman." He growled, gloved hands compressing into a pair of tight fists. "I only strive to attain my rightful place as a Super Saiyan."

"So you'll rule the universe then?"

"No," his voice was even, decided. Bulma was shocked by his answer, and he continued. "If I had my planet, my people, they would worship me. I wouldn't have to _command_ respect. The universe isn't mine to rule. I would be a tyrant, no better than Frieza."

She smiled. "I think you'd be much better than Frieza."

He looked over, eyeing the control panel. "Is it ready?"

"Oh," she jumped to her feet. "Just about. Thirty more minutes. I can bring it out to you, when it's ready."

Without another word, he turned from her and entered the yard. Bulma's mother was watering her flowers when he walked by, and she made a passing comment about the weather. He ignored her, and sat beneath the shade of a tree to meditate.

As promised, a half hour later he felt Bulma closing in on him. When he cracked open an eye, she grinned.

"Hi'ya, Vegeta," she greeted, tossing a capsule on the ground. When the smoke dispersed, the control panel sat on the lawn. She gestured to the device, clearly unable to move it inside herself. "Give me hand?"

He found himself disturbed by her presence, the way she so casually addressed him. Lifting his hand, he shot a blue ki blast, watching as it zipped by her head and collided with a tree a few feet to her left.

"Vegeta! You almost hit me!" She snapped, shocked and angered by his action.

He snorted. It wasn't, say, as satisfying as blasting her, or Kakarot, but it did alleviate some of his pent up frustration. "Don't worry. I'll be sure not to miss next time."

Sighing, Bulma watched as he got up, and effortlessly scooped the bulky panel in his arms. Following him into the Gravity Chamber, Bulma shook her head.

"Oh Vegeta, I'm not giving up _that_ easily."

He'd smelt fear on her the previous night, but it wasn't fear of him like he'd suspected. It was the alarm that coursed through her when she realized the shocking truth: Bulma Briefs was attracted to her homicidal housemate.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It had been weeks since she'd made the repairs to the Gravity Chamber, and consequently weeks since she'd spoken with Vegeta. After their last encounter, she was not entirely surprised, but she was a bit confused. He'd cornered her, sniffed her, and had avoided making eye contact with her since. Sure she hadn't been wearing perfume, and had been spent most of the day working in her lab, but she couldn't have smelt _that_ bad.

Bulma tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and frowned. It was a good thing, she convinced herself, that Vegeta was once again avoiding her. Finally she'd been able to sit in her lab in and concentrate without distraction. It had been a productive couple of weeks, and though she strangely missed the Saiyan barging into her lab at the most inconvenient times, she was elated to stamp 'complete' on the new Cc Jet.

She leaned closer to the mirror, applying her mascara with more care than usual. Her ship was done, and today she was presenting it to the board. If all went well, the jet would be up for distribution in a month's time. The only problem was she hadn't any major projects lined up. Bulma was afraid the lack of company paired with the lack of work would drive her insane.

Vegeta was being evasive, yes, but Yamcha had disappeared entirely. She'd called him one evening, just to chat, and he hadn't answered. Days later, he'd yet to call back. Convincing herself that he'd finally gone to get some serious training done, she couldn't manage to shake the feeling that she'd been blown off. The only two eligible men in her life, and neither wanted to be in her company.

She frowned at her reflection; the pouting of roused lips only made her pucker them more. Breaking into a grin, Bulma winked at her reflection, all earlier musings forgotten. "Knock 'em dead, girl!"

She pulled down the hem of her pencil skirt, and patted her hair with a puckered brow. Months of neglect had reduced her shiny, bouncy ringlets to a limp curl. It didn't matter. None of the men attending the board meeting ever paid any attention to her hair. If they were sure to notice anything it'd be her ass, but luckily what she had to say would be compelling enough. Turning slightly, she checked her backside, just incase.

Spinning on her heel, Bulma exited her bathroom and descended the stairs, to find Vegeta seated at the kitchen table. She smiled at him as she entered the room, but he made no move to glance up from his food.

"Good morning, Vegeta," she greeted despite his brush off. She knew he was able to sense energy and was well aware of her presence. It was unnerving, having someone know where you were at all times, but she figured he ignored her ki just as he did her physical presence.

"Feh," he snorted, glancing up at her for the briefest of seconds before returning to his meal.

"Morning!" Mrs. Briefs chirped, turning from the stove to survey her daughter. "Vegeta's having his breakfast if you would like to - Oh!" She grinned, hands clasping together in front of her chest. "You look wonderful dear!"

Bulma smiled at her mother, and grabbed a piece of toast from the counter. "Thanks mom," she said, smearing some strawberry jam on the toast and cramming it into her mouth. Her mother surveyed her with a disapproving frown, but shook her head and returned to the bacon frying on the stovetop.

When she removed the hot strips from the pan, Mrs. Briefs set them on a plate in front of Vegeta. Reaching across the prince, Bulma grabbed a piece of bacon and, holding it in front of her lips, made eye contact with the fuming Saiyan.

Bulma couldn't contain her grin. She was not really in the mood for bacon, but couldn't resist reaching over and snagging another piece.

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he took a strip of his own and went back to ignoring her. Bulma sighed and finished her toast in silence, wondering what she'd done to deserve the silent treatment. Vegeta was usually very vocal when anyone even considered stealing food that was clearly intended for him, especially when said food was meat, but he only grunted in Bulma's direction before polishing off the remainder of his breakfast.

He stood from the table, scrapping the legs of his chair against the tile, causing Bulma to look up, mid-bite with toast pressed against her lips. She arched one of her thin brows at his heated glare, but Vegeta turned from the room before she had a chance to ask him what his problem was.

So Bulma finished her own meal and went to her board meeting. As she past the window, she glanced across the yar at the Gravity Chamber. She sighed before leaving the kitchen and her mother's knowing look behind.

* * *

Bulma sunk into the couch, a carton of ice cream in hand. Tucking her feet under her, she flicked on the TV, squinting as light and sound flooded the dark sitting room.

After her successful meeting, she'd gone to the lab and made a list of projects to complete. Now that she'd outlined a score or so of things to work on, she didn't feel particularly up to it. There had been no one to infuriate her recently, nothing to push her to prove herself or to make her so angry she was forced to seek shelter in her lab. True, she acknowledged that it was not the healthiest work ethic, but it worked for her.

A few minutes into her show, she smiled as heard the back door swing open. She tried to look interested in what was going happening on the television, but she was having a hard time feigning interest. The truth of the matter was that it wasn't coincidental that Bulma found herself alone in her living room at around the time the Saiyan Prince was wrapping up his training.

"Hello, Vegeta," she greeted as he entered the room, having a difficult time keeping her eyes on the TV. "How're you this evening?"

Vegeta paused at the doorway, glancing over at the blue haired woman. "Hn," as his way of greeting, and he took a step into the room.

Bulma finally turned away from the show, and smiled at the man standing shirtless in her living room. A slight sheen of sweat on his muscles, her eyes darted from his bulging pecs to his well-defined abs, to finally rest on the sharp line of his hips disappearing into the tight fabric of his shorts. Not wanting to get caught staring any lower, Bulma's eyes darted to his own with a grin. "Want some ice cream?"

He studied her for a moment, the hard, dark eyes as unreadable as always. Her lips quirked slightly, noting the way he glanced at the carton in her lap. He looked worn, but not tired. She'd seen the dark circles beneath his eyes, the laggard way he drug himself upstairs enough times to know that the Vegeta before her was more than capable of staying up and having a conversation with her. The rational part of her knew all the versions of Vegeta, no matter how awake, were willing to stay up sharing stories and a carton of ice cream with her, even if he happened to be capable of doing so.

It was not yet midnight, but Bulma was beginning to feel that all of her encounters with the Saiyan Prince were destined to happen after dark. With a blush, she stuffed another spoonful into her mouth.

"I have never had it before," he said after a long period of silence, still hovering by the entryway, watching her warily.

"Really?" She gasped, tilting the carton in his direction. "Try some!"

He reeled back, as if she'd burnt him, and the small turn of his aristocratic nose crumpled. "I will not eat after you."

"Oh?" One of her brows arched, taunting him. "Don't tell me the Prince of All Saiyans is afraid of germs."

Bulma almost laughed at the serious expression that elapsed Vegeta's features. Her tactic of challenging him as though he were an eight-year-old boy worked exceedingly well. Far better than expected. In a flash, he was in front of her, ripping the spoon from her hand.

"Well?"

He looked pensive. And far too serious for a shirtless man holding a spoon. "I will require more."

Laughing, Bulma surrendered her spoon and handed over the half-eaten carton of chocolate ice cream.

A part of him wondered why she was being so accommodating. From all he'd gathered about this woman, she should have been shouting at him to get his own. He reminded himself that her danger lay in her unpredictability. That, and this ice cream was damn delicious. It was far safer sharing with her than alcohol, as it didn't appear to make her randy. With a quick sniff, Vegeta determined that she was not, in fact, turned on at the moment. Though he was conscious enough to admit that he was discontented by this fact. It was the reason he'd been standing in the doorway in the first place. He'd been waiting to see what the delicious creature would do. Not that he'd expected it, but he was a red-blooded male and not exactly one to turn down sexual favors from an attractive female. No matter how annoying she happened to be.

Vegeta glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and frowned.

She caught his eye, and cocked her head to the side. "How's the training coming along?"

His features hardened. No, she didn't appear to want anything from him aside from a conversation. "It is decent."

"You must be getting stronger," she commented, her eyes bearing into his. "I've monitored the gravity in the Chamber, and you've been going at four-hundred g's non-stop."

She was just stating facts that were obvious to him. He was well aware of how he'd spent ninety percent of his day. Another spoonful of ice cream, and he remained silent.

Bulma sighed into the silence of the room. She knew she was going insane, because it was strangely pleasant being in Vegeta's company. He didn't seem to dwell on the small details, and for someone with such a sizeable ego, he wasn't interested in boasting his strength.

"I'm glad you'll be helping up with the androids," she gave him a tightlipped smile when the silence became too much to bear. "You aren't going to run off before they get here, right?"

He paused and glanced up. What kind of a question was that?

Sensing his confusion, Bulma tilted her head to one side, and shrugged. "I can just see you running off if something else came along. Something better. And I know you'll leave us the second you decide it's not worth fighting Goku."

His eyes narrowed; the ice cream was now on the coffee table, completely forgotten. "Clearly you do not comprehend my desire to kill Kakarot."

She laughed. "So? I can trust you'll stay for Goku, then."

"What else would I stay for?"

Bulma studied him for a moment, wondering herself what she'd been implying. With an honest shrug, she answered, "I don't know. Just promise you won't run off?"

He nodded slightly, just the quick tip of his head, but Bulma smiled. It was a good enough promise, and the best from Vegeta she'd ever get.

"So," her grin widened, tone switching from serious to its usual manner of casual curiosity. "Say everything goes according to plan. You beat the androids, and then mop the earth with Goku. What then?"

Vegeta turned the question over in his mind for a moment. "I'll take your ship."

Bulma nodded. "O _kay_ , but that's not really an answer." She glanced out the large, bay windows into the starry night sky. "You have family out there? Friends? A girlfriend, maybe?"

"Everyone I know is dead. Killed by Frieza," he spoke, voice low and holding no remorse. Even still, Bulma thought she saw a brief flicker of emotion in his eyes as soon as the words escaped his mouth.

"Ah," she wiggled her brows at him, and snatched the ice cream from the table. Glancing down into the carton, she saw the chocolaty mixture was half-soupy mixture. She frowned. "So no girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" He glanced quizzically at her, and she smirked.

"Okay, perhaps a ridiculous question," skimming some of the ice cream into her spoon, she stuffed it into her mouth. Meeting his eyes once again, she continued, "So that Nappa guy, and Goku's brother, what's-his-name, they were your friends?"

He released a breath, and she noticed the way his nostrils flared and the muscles in his neck tightened.

"Chill out Vegeta," she said, rolling her eyes. Another spoonful, and then, "I'm just bored, and you're someone to talk to. You've got to get lonely too, right?" His eyes were focused somewhere outside, and she followed his stare, to the night sky. Turning to face his profile, she took her lower lips between her teeth. "I'm not saying we have to be friends or anything, but we're both here, alone, all the time. You can talk to me." She smiled. "It might even make you feel less crazy, you know."

A silence settled between them. Bulma swirled her spoon around in the now liquid cream. She was surprised when Vegeta finally broke the silence.

"I have a brother."

She blinked.

His eyes darted to hers, before quickly retuning to the window. "He may or may not be alive."

"A _brother_?" She gasped. Studying Vegeta for a long moment, her features broke into a grin. "Older, or younger?"

"Younger," Vegeta glared at her, as though it would be _insulting_ to assume he was the younger of the two. She remembered his obsession with his title, and shrugged, unsurprised.

"Wow," she shook her head and turned her attention to the stars as well. "Then you have something out there to go to, you know, if you succeed in killing everyone."

He smirked, and she heard the barest hint of a chuckle escape his throat.

"I said I don't know if he's alive," one of his shoulders lifted in a noncommittal shrug. "He's a stranger to me. I would have no reason to go to him."

"But he's your _brother_ ," Bulma exclaimed, eyes wide. "Your blood. I thought you cared about that kind of thing."

" _If_ he's managed to stay alive, he's less of a Saiyan than Kakarot."

"He's the same amount Saiyan than Kakarot," Bulma said, voice light. She wondered how anyone could meet this man's standards. She also wondered why he was bothering to share any of this with her, but she was enjoying it, so wisely kept her mouth shut.

Vegeta thought over her words for a moment. He wondered if everything went according to plan, if he'd ever visit Tarble. He doubted he would. Tarble's circumstances were far worse than Kakarot's. At least Kakarot had no memories, no clue even, of what being a Saiyan meant. Tarble had just been a freak.

His eyes narrowed, and he continued to study the sky. Vegeta's gaze skimming over the planets he knew the name of; some of which he'd visited on occasion, others he'd had the pleasure of destroying himself, their lights lingering due to their distance from Earth, reminding him of who he was. Of who he should have still been.

Bulma shifted her weight and turned her body so that she now faced him. Vegeta inched away slightly. He could smell nothing of arousal on her, and no trace of fear. It was just her natural scent that infiltrated his senses, as though she were entirely unaffected by his presence.

This calm familiarity was strange to him. He was not one to sit idly, his mind and body simultaneously at rest. It didn't make sense, but he'd found himself doing so in this woman's company on more than one occasion.

He was dangerously skirting the admittance that being in her company was not entirely unpleasant, when she yawned and leaned into him, her blue hair spilling across his chest and her temple resting on his shoulder.

Stiffening, Vegeta's muscles twitched. It was the slightest jerk of his shoulder, but the woman crashed onto the floor. He almost smirked as her blue eyes flew open and narrowed dangerously at him, fuming as she glared up from her position on the floor.

"What the fuck Vegeta?" She mumbled, rubbing her head as she got to her feet. Crossing her arms, Bulma lifted her nose in the air. "You may be one seriously gorgeous specimen of man, but you are a bit touched in the head." Her eyes darted from his bare chest to his emotionless eyes, and she frowned. "You should really consider being nicer to me."

He got to his feet, and crossing his arms met her glare. "Is that so?"

"Yes it's _so_. I'm serious Vegeta." Her glare faltered. "I- We're…" She blinked, unsure of what she was trying to say. Her insides were swelling with emotion, but she couldn't quite place what they were. She wasn't even sure herself what it was she wanted from Vegeta. Was his company really worth the headache? Was it healthy to seek out the murdering jackass of billions just for the sake of companionship?

The anger melted from her features, and she sighed. Taking the empty carton of ice cream from the table, she disappeared into the kitchen, trying to collect her thoughts, and tossed it into the trash. When she reentered the living room, Vegeta was gone.

* * *

"Oh my, that Vegeta's at it again."

At the sound of her mother's voice, Bulma stuffed the remainder of her petit four into her mouth and rolled her eyes. She hadn't spoken to Vegeta at all since two nights ago when she'd stood, flustered in her living room, unsure of what she'd meant to say. She was still confused about what she'd been at; either drawing some conclusion between the two, or perhaps it was just a casual observation. Either way, between the alcohol and ice cream, all three of her late night conversations with Vegeta had ended strangely.

"I feel lazy," Bulma muttered, as she followed Mrs. Brief's line of sight to the Saiyan doing one-handed pushups on the lawn. It was hot today, and the sun beat down on his glistening back, but he made no moves to slow down.

"Your father's tweaking the gravity for him." Mrs. Brief's grinned, watching as the prince did another pushup. "That young man just gets stronger and stronger everyday."

"And with each day he gets stronger, we all get that much closer to our deaths."

"Oh," her mother laughed with a dismissive wave her hand, "he's not going to kill us."

Bulma shrugged and eyed the platter of petit fours one last time. "Enough about Vegeta," she said, getting to her feet and dusting her hands together. "I feel lazy, and all this talk about other people working out while we snack on cakes isn't helping."

Mrs. Briefs grinned at the beautiful arrangement of sweets she'd picked up from the bakery as her daughter stormed out of the room.

* * *

The old man was taking entirely too long checking the gravity controls. With another glance at the humming old kook, he growled under his breath. It was far too hot out here, and training in the pathetic natural state of gravity on Earth was insulting.

He sought out the woman's energy, and placed it inside the compound. Following the weak signal, he frowned as her location became apparent. Vegeta continued to walk down the hallway, towards the room that housed the compound's workout facilities. It was a laughable room, really, and one he'd not once seen in use. When he'd first arrived on Earth, the woman had given him a tour of the place. She'd told him that he was welcome to use the gym equipment anytime, but he found the idea of it strange. It was far too inferior for his own grand strength, and not once had he seen any of the Brief's step foot inside the fitness center. He was fairly certain none of them worked out, and even if they did, their pathetic human training sessions would be of no use to anyone.

"Woman," he snapped as he thrust the pair of doors open. He spotted her in the far corner of the room, peddling speedily on a recumbent bike. She didn't appear to have heard him, as she was sporting a pair of earphones blasting music. His acute senses could pick up the faint sounds coming from the device strapped to her shorts, and he grimaced at the noise.

He approached her, ready to reprimand her for her negligence of the Gravity Room, and perhaps insult her pathetic workout routine, when he froze.

She was peddling swiftly, her breasts, encased in a sports bra, bounced with each of her movements, the bright material damp beneath her tits. Her black shorts had ridden up, and her legs, red with exhaustion, were lean, her bare stomach tone. As she panted her mouth open, her pink tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. Vegeta found that her hair, already pulled back behind her head, was rather convenient for what he had in mind for those delicious, parted lips.

He'd admitted before that he'd consider, maybe, possibly, having sex with her, but never once had he fanaticized about it. A fact that was going to prove exceedingly more difficult now that he'd had _this_ image of the woman permanently burned into his psyche.

"Vegeta," she breathed heavily, reducing her speed and, with a tilt of her head, plucking the headphones from her ears. Slowing her machine to a stop, she got to her shaky limbs and removed the towel from the bike's handlebars. Rubbing her sweaty brow, her eyes remained on the rather anxious looking Saiyan. "What's up?"

His mouth opened, and then closed. She was indecent and sweaty and looking like she'd just trained all day in the Gravity Chamber, which he knew was not the case. Opening his mouth once again, his regained control over his vocal chords. "The chamber is broken. You are to go and fix it this instant."

Laughing, Bulma tossed her towel back onto the bike and sighed. "Aye aye, captain."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed, and the woman had the audacity to wink at him.

"Chill out, Vegeta." She grinned, and taking a step forward, purposefully invaded what she was well aware was his personal space. "I'll get right on it."

With a growl, Vegeta turned and marched out of the gym. Bulma blinked as she watched his retreating figure, and shrugged.

"I swear," she mumbled, grabbing her towel and tossing it over her shoulder, "that man just gets stranger and stranger." Bulma released a heavy breath and followed Vegeta outside the workout room, into the hallway, and outside the Compound. The sun was blinding, and she had to squint to see the tense man glaring at her from the opposite side of the yard.

With a frown, she wondered if perhaps they were better off when avoiding one another.

She couldn't contain the smile threatening to break across her features. _Avoiding_ Vegeta? She grinned, and as she closed the distance between them, muttered to herself; "Now where's the fun in that?"

 


	7. Chapter 7

"Ug," she groaned in frustration, hand flexing around the screwdriver, resisting the urge to drive the Phillips head into the source of her aggravation. "Listen, are you always this stupid, or are you just making a special effort today?"

From his place on the opposite side of her lab, Vegeta remained unfazed by her anger. Crossing him arms, he squinted to focus on the identical trio of devices on the table. "I just don't understand its purpose."

Another sigh, and Bulma closed the distance between them, her boots smacking against the floor of her lab with each exaggerated stomp. Slamming the screwdriver on the table, she met the prince's dark gaze with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "Thisis a capacitor."

"Its function?"

"Its _function_ is to hold a charge."

He shrugged, still glaring down at the offensive device he did not understand. "And it is necessary to have all three in the Gravity Chamber?"

" _Everything_ is necessary in the Chamber," she looked offended. "Do you think I'd add a bunch of nonsensical parts for my own perverse pleasure?"

His lips twitched to a slight frown, and Bulma sighed.

"That's why each time you lose your temper, or accidently blast a hole through some part I have to replace it. Everything is vital for the Chamber to run smoothly."

Arms still crossed, Vegeta leaned forward and studied the parts for a moment before asking; "Then what are you doing to this one?"

Though she'd been annoyed by his distraction, barging into her lab for no apparent reason other than to insult her and inquire about various components of the Gravity Chamber, Bulma could not help but smile. There was something elating about explaining her inventions to him. He not only seemed interested in utilizing her inventions, but of learning of her future plans for them as well. Her creations had always seemed to go over Goku's head, and Yamcha had never bothered to pester her to build useful things for him. Vegeta, however infuriatingly he went about it, was always there to give her something to do.

"I know it's only a matter of time before you barge in here and demand I up the gravity," she paused, " _again,"_ and despite her tone, there was a grin on her lips, a playful glint in her eyes. "I can't simply up the dial. The capacitors in the Chamber control the charge, and in order to increase the voltage, I have to use larger foil in each of these. In turn, altering the size of the shells."

He nodded, his eyes never straying from the set of capacitors. For a fleeting moment, he wondered how he was supposed to feel. He was not surprised that the woman was anticipating his eventual mastery over his current training level, but he felt something akin to surprise, or maybe something else, that she was already a step ahead of him. She'd been preparing for the inevitable, and the moment he was ready, she'd be able to install the upgrades without a word. Though, given that it was _this_ particular female, he knew the exchange would not go silently. No, there would be words, and they would be shouted at the top of her annoying, self-righteous voice. But the gravity would be higher and all because she'd put enough faith in him to know it was going to happen eventually.

Bulma had gone back to her work, trying to ignore the suffocating presence of the prince lingering in her lab. It was strange that he'd come here, wasting valuable training time, when nothing was wrong with the Gravity Chamber or the training bots. Yes, she was well aware that the Saiyan was prone to boredom, but that was usually after he'd exhausted his body and mind in the training room for hours upon hours. That was when he'd find her, and they'd make small talk over drinks, discussing the androids and Goku and things they had in common without consciously phrasing it that way. He never came to her lab, not when he could have been blasting metal to bits in her backyard.

"So," she began, casting him a glance beneath her lashes as she pretended to tighten another screw. "Are you ready for the upgrade?"

The muscles in his back tightened, and instantly she regretted her words.

"I know you will be," she continued, hastily, not bothering to feign work as she studied him, "soon enough. 400-G's is something else."

His fist tightened, and he stared at the flesh straining over his knuckles. The words ' _not enough'_ echoed in his mind, but he refused to speak them aloud. How had it been so long, so many months at high-gravity training, and… nothing?

"Hey," Bulma spoke, noting his rigid posture, and though she couldn't see his face, she could guess at the look well enough. She'd seen it often, the glimpse of pain on Vegeta's face. It was always mixed with fury, but there was remorse underneath. As though he couldn't experience the two emotions independently.

Her heart ached at the thought of wanting something so badly, but having it just out of reach. She didn't think she'd ever wanted something so desperately, and it made her feel small and passionless just being in the same room with the stoic prince.

At the single word, he turned and glanced at her, and she almost smiled. The look of rage and self-loathing was gone, and instead he simply looked perturbed. _This_ was the version of Vegeta she was far more comfortable dealing with.

"So, are you just going to stand in my lab gushing over my genius all day, or are you going to get that tight tushy outside and crack down on your suicidal training?"

With a pointed gaze, he exhaled sharply through his noise. Bulma tipped her head in his direction as he turned and left, watching said tushy, clad in all its spandex glory, flee her lab.

When he was gone and out of hearing range, Bulma released a laugh. She felt a bit like a crazy person, grinning in the aftermath of her hysterics. But her boyfriend was gone and her friends were no shows as always, and she was happy that Vegeta was there, living with her family. With her.

The happiness encompassed her features as she returned to her work. It was strange, the way she'd gone from being scared-shitless of the faceless warrior, to terrified of the sexy, deadly man from Namek, and then, finally, to accepting him as an acquaintance; all before being _glad_ he'd been wished back if only for her own selfish pleasure. He'd probably always want to kill her and everyone on Earth, but for these three-years she knew she'd always be happy he'd accepted her offer and stayed at Capsule Corps..

* * *

Dinner at this house was something to be endured. He tried to stagger his meals so that the blond woman was in the kitchen but the rest of the inhabitants of Capsule Corporation were not eating. But that evening he'd entered the kitchen, drained and famished, to find all three of the Briefs seated around the table.

He did not bother to contain his displeasure.

"Oh," Mrs. Briefs said, her cheery voice grating his sensitive ears, "Vegeta dear! All that training, you need food for all those muscles. And you must be hungry!"

And he was. So he took a seat at the table, beside the two women and across from the old doctor with the cat perched on his shoulder. Mrs. Briefs quickly filled his plate with Saiyan-size portions, and the family resumed talking as though the mass-murdering alien was simply an addition to their family. As though it were nothing to be taken aback by.

Bulma had glanced at him when he'd entered the kitchen, but quickly returned to her father, the sashimi forgotten on her plate. "So, how long until it's ready for distribution?"

Dr. Briefs shrugged, as his wife piled more rice on his plate. "I am not sure. But we were invited to showcase it at a convention in Central City next week."

At the mention of the city, not quite as grand as West City but certainly significant, her mother gasped excitedly.

"We're staying at the cutest hotel," she beamed at her daughter, and then turning the grin to Saiyan Prince, "and there's so much _shopping_ in Central City!"

Central City brought back the memories of the fight with King Piccolo more so than shopping, but Bulma was glad to see her mother in such a good mood. Even if the mood switch was only from giddy to extremely giddy.

"Central City is the capital of Earth," Dr. Briefs explained to the Saiyan. Vegeta, however, did not look up from his dinner, and he did not seem interested in learning the details of the Brief's trip any more than he did the politics of Earth. "That's where our king lives, and our military is stationed."

It was silent, and then the phone rang. Bulma got up from the table and crossed the room to answer it.

"Yo, this is Bulma," she said into the earpiece, and grinned at the voice that greeted her on the other end of the line. "Goku!" she exclaimed, excited to hear from her old friend. At the sound of the idiot's human name, Vegeta's teeth ground together. His meal, which had been unpleasant due to the company, had just become hellish.

"How are you?" Goku asked, and her grin widened.

"I'm great Goku!" She laughed. "How are you? Piccolo and Gohan doing well?"

"Yep. Everyone's getting strong. You should see Gohan now! He's huge, and he's incredibly strong."

Bulma leaned against the counter, switching the phone to her other ear. "I'm sure he'll be a great help against the Androids." She paused. "Chichi?"

"Er," she heard him hesitate, and she could picture him scratching his head. "She's… stressed. I don't know how she feels, living with a bunch of aliens. It's kinda taxing."

She laughed. "Trust me, I've got her back there. You guys are nothing but trouble."

"So _ooo_ ," she could hear his smile, "how's Vegeta?"

Bulma blinked. "Vegeta?"

At the sound of his name, Vegeta stilled and glanced at the woman. She met his eyes from across the room, and lowered her voice, though she was well aware that only her parents would be left out of the conversation. Vegeta's hearing was far superior to theirs. "He's… okay I guess. Hasn't killed anyone, if that's what you're after."

On the other end of the line, Goku laughed. "Oh, I know that. I'm just wondering how you two are doing."

Again, Bulma blinked. "What?"

"You know, you guys getting along and stuff?"

"Uh," She began, her eyes meeting Vegeta's once more. He seemed temporarily uninterested in his dinner as he listened to the woman in the kitchen, ignoring her parents' conversation about their upcoming trip. "We're fine Goku. Everything okay?" Her voice hardened. "Is there something I should know about?"

"No!" Goku answered, a bit too quickly. Bulma frowned.

"If something's up, you'd tell me, right Goku?"

"Of course! I just… I was just hoping you two were being friendly. Well, friends. Yeah. Friends."

Bulma shook her head, wondering what was up with Goku. With a shrug, she told him; "We're fine Goku. You can talk to him, if you'd like."

Vegeta's expression hardened at her words, and when the woman extended the phone in his direction, he stared at it for a moment before raising his index finger and blasting it.

"Ak!" Bulma shrieked, as bits of plastic and metal fell to the floor. She dropped the remainder of the phone and glared at the smirking Saiyan at the table. "Vegeta! You jerk! What's your problem!"

When she took her seat at the table, Vegeta was back to inhaling his dinner, and her parents were still flippantly discussing their plans for their excursion of the capital, as though an alien hadn't just opened fire in their kitchen for no apparent reason.

"We'll need a new phone," Bulma mumbled, before stuffing a forkful of rice into her mouth.

"Oh," Mrs. Briefs grinned, "I'll pick one up while I'm in Central City!"

* * *

She sunk lower into her bubble bath, thinking of Goku's words from their conversation at dinner. She contemplated calling him back on her cell phone to see what he was after, but had decided against it. Goku was probably just hoping they were getting along. He wanted the whole universe to be friends, and if he thought Bulma and Vegeta were pals then perhaps Vegeta would lighten up and stick around to help protect the Earth.

Bulma snorted. As if _she_ had any influence over Vegeta's desires. Even if by some measure they became close, there was nothing she could do to prevent him from coveting Goku's death.

The two Saiyans were alike in ways, but when she thought about it, it was hard to find too many similarities apart from their lust of battle and strength, and their wacky, alien hairstyles. Those were on the surface; if she dug any deeper, she found the contrast chilling. Goku was innocent, he could _still_ ride nimbus and never hesitated to put everyone's safety above his own. Vegeta was dark and selfish to the core. She thought she could open him up, just a bit, but she'd never be able to change those things. And she was not sure she even wanted to.

His sex appeal stemmed from the fact that he was a handsome, brooding mystery. One she wouldn't mind between her legs.

But there were other difference between the Saiyans. Vegeta was serious and focused, his dedication towards ascension was astounding, and she knew he lived and breathed to defeat Goku. Goku, however, shrugged off Vegeta's threats. He'd smiled as though he were eagerly awaiting the fight with Vegeta. He was eager to fight with all he had against a man who wanted him dead once the world was safe. Bulma frowned; they were both nutcases as far as she was concerned.

Compared to Vegeta, though, Goku had had it easy. Vegeta had been taken from his planet as a boy, forced to serve a tyrant he despised. He had no family, no people, and no kingdom, and yet he'd had held onto his pride and strength. Both of which along with his tail, the only physical thing that set him apart, he'd been stripped of the moment he'd landed on earth. Bulma was not surprised by his hatred of this planet. Goku had family and friends, and love and innocence. And yet he'd been the one to kill Frieza, something Vegeta had wanted for himself.

She frowned as she ran her hand along the thinning layer of bubbles, steam still rising from the warm water. Bulma was aware that she was beginning to take Vegeta's side over Goku's, and though it surprised her, it did not alarm her.

It was Krillin who had filled her in on what she missed on Namek. She'd sat, arms crossed and still pissed at being left as she listened to the story, but she'd blinked when he got to the part where Vegeta had died on Namek. Broken and dying, he'd begged Goku to avenge their people. He'd _cried._ The man she never believed could break bled just like her and cried just like her. He was far more human than he'd ever believe.

She knew that when it came to the inevitable fight between the two men, she'd have a difficult time taking sides. A far more complex time than any sane woman should.

* * *

"You're bleeding," she said. Bulma had just rounded the hallway, her hair still damp from her bath, to find Vegeta standing, sweaty and unaffected by the blood pooling his tee.

He shrugged, glancing down at the large red stain on the garment.

"It is nothing."

She rolled her eyes, tired of the macho act. "It's clearly _something,_ you lunkhead."

He was tired, too tired to deal with her and her petty insults. Yes, he'd been hit by one of his own blasts, reflected by the woman's machines. She was fucking genius, and he owed his jolt in strength to her, but he did not want to sit around and talk about his injuries with her. Not tonight. Not ever.

Her room was just a few doors down the hall, and she opened her door. "Come on."

He blinked, dryness in his throat.

"I have medical supplies," she sighed, and he noticed that she too look exhausted. It was late, and he was still bleeding, so he followed her inside.

The woman pulled out a trunk and began to remove gauze and syringe, along with a few bottles and cloths, not looking at him. He smirked. She looked oddly businesslike, as though she were a medical technician from Frieza's base despite her damp, unruly hair and her sleep shorts. She looked ridiculous, but her eyes were confident and he did not doubt that she would do anything less than a flawless job on his injured side.

He removed the bloody shirt, and Bulma frowned as she watched the soiled garment drop to carpet with a heavy 'plop'.

"That's disgusting Vegeta," she said, nose wrinkled, as she lifted the syringe and readied the barrel.

"Your room is disgusting," he commented, surveying the mess. Her desk was crowded with diet soda cans, and the space near her closet was piled with clothes. Her bed was unmade, a mound of purple blankets at its edge, spilling to the floor. "You're a slob."

Bulma shrugged, never one to claim to be tidy, and motioned to the bed. Vegeta watched her warily as he set on its edge. Her scent was everywhere, and as she bent towards him, lowering the needle to a vein at his side, he realized she was no wearing a bra.

As much as Bulma tried to stay professional, it was difficult with Vegeta's bulging muscles beneath her fingertips. He was warm, and smelt like engine grease and sweat and Vegeta.

She set the syringe aside, and picked up a cloth.

"You look awful," Bulma commented, cleaning the wound at his side. She doused the rag with cleaning solution, and as she ran it over Vegeta's side, she saw his abdominals tighten. But his breath didn't hitch, and his face betrayed no sign that he felt any pain.

"Yes," he commented, dark eyes darting to the ugly would at his side. "But I am Saiyan. By tomorrow I will be healed, but you'll still be hideous."

She smiled, and done cleaning off the blood, dotted his wound with a dry rag before reaching for the gauze. "You should try and be more careful."

His features set into a frown, and he simply watched her as she worked.

When she had secured the wrap around his middle, her fingers lingering longer than what was appropriate on the exposed skin of his stomach just above the thick white bandage, she leaned back.

Vegeta moved his midsection, twisting the freshly cleaned wound. He'd never admit it, but it had been a bad one, a wound he was not looking forward to sleeping on.

She saw a bit of emotion flicker in his eyes, and smiled. "You're welcome."

His glare indicated that anything he might have thought had not been of the 'thank you' variety, but Bulma shrugged.

"I know you won't say it, but you're still welcome."

His glare softened slightly, though his eyes were still narrowed and his dark features pinched. Bulma reached up and ran her fingers along his temple, and up into the black spikes of his hair. He seemed surprised, but said nothing as she fingered his stiff mane.

"I…" she began, unsure of what she intended to say. They were both seated on the edge of her bed, turned slightly so that they were facing one another. The shirtless Saiyan looked mad, but no angrier than usual. And he hadn't pulled away from her touch. Leaning forward a bit, Bulma closed some of the distance between them, and Vegeta inhaled he took in the scent of her arousal. Though this time it was not tainted with any fear.

She swallowed, and winced at the audible sound it made. Leaning forward just a bit more, Bulma inhaled his scent before pressing her lips against his.

It was the slightest, pressureless touch, but she felt his warm lips brush against hers and he did not pull away. Heat flooded her core, and her heart raced. Vegeta, who she had thought so untouchable, was against her lips, his hand centimeters from her own. Without pulling away, Bulma pressed her lips further against his, and parted her lips.

"Oh my!" A cheery voice rang, and the pair split apart with a jolt. Bulma's hand flew to her chest, her cheeks draining of all color, as she saw her mother standing, grinning in her doorway.

"I do hope," she giggled, depositing the laundry basket on the floor, "that this means you two have finally hooked up!"

Some of the color returned back to Bulma's cheeks, and she watched in horror as her mother winked and turned, shutting the door behind her.

Vegeta was stiff at her side, and when she turned to face him, she frowned. His eyes were fixated on the doorway, and he made no move to acknowledge her.

"Vegeta," she breathed, "I…"

He nodded, and got to his feet. The door quickly swung open and closed again, and Bulma watched his retreat with a blink.

Sighing, she leaned back on her bed and kicked out her feet. The purple comfortable slid off the bed entirely and dropped to the floor with a slow swoosh to rest beside Vegeta's forgotten shirt.

* * *

The following morning, Vegeta entered the Chamber and cranked up the gravity to its max. He grunted as he felt the instantaneous strain of his muscles, but flexed against the pain. His side, due to the woman's craftsmanship, was nearly healed. He'd ripped the bandage off earlier that morning, and the pink flesh had burnt in the shower, but there was no denying that it was exceedingly better.

He could feel the woman's ki in her room, still sleeping, and he twisted his side once more, feeling the pain of the wound. It was a distraction to what almost happened last night. He could still feel her soft lips on his, applying pressure before opening them, offering herself to him.

He wasn't opposed to having sex with her, but his fists always came before his dick. Vegeta told himself that he simply didn't have the energy to squander on her body, but he knew that if the opportunity arose again, he would be helpless but to succumb to it. Besides, he was not adverse to an innovative workout every now and then.

* * *

Tapping her fingers against the countertop, Bulma watched the coffee brew with a frown.

She was frustrated, and not just mentally. On the one hand, she'd been denied a surely satisfying encounter with Vegeta, but on the other she knew it was inevitable. They were two lonely, good-looking people living under the same roof. She knew she was curious and wanted to, just once, press more than her lips against Vegeta. She'd ever only had one partner, and she was curious. Sure, when she was younger she'd thought Yamcha would be her first and her only, but a rational part of her brain had let go of that idealism long ago. She was a woman, a woman with unmet sexual needs who happened to have a sexy man with even less options sleeping just down the hall.

It didn't have to be forever, she told herself. It didn't even have to mean anything. Just one night of ecstasy. And it would happen, as long as they weren't interrupted…

Her frown faded and a grin lit up her features as she turned, coffee in tow, and saw the suitcases piled in the family room.

The only problem was, she'd grown _comfortable_ around Vegeta. She was beginning to understand that she was attracted to him in more than just the physical sense. It was dangerous perhaps, but nothing major. People could still have one-night flings with people they respected, and maybe even cared about. And besides, even if she felt a bit attached to the handsome Saiyan, she knew nothing more would ever come of their situation. She might harbor some affection, but there was no way in hell he'd ever feel anything more.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Her parents had gone, and they'd left her alone with Vegeta.

Bulma sighed, flipping another glossy page of her dad's _Popular Science_ magazine and avoided looking out the window where the Gravity Chamber was humming on the lawn.

It had been twelve hour since her parent's departure to Central City, and in those twelve hours Vegeta had not stepped foot outside the Chamber. Her fingers tightened around the magazine, her vision blurring with frustration.

"Doesn't even stop to take a piss," she mumbled to herself. She might have been impressed, if she weren't so upset.

Hours earlier, when she'd waved goodbye to her folks, she'd grinned against the anticipation welling inside her. She'd not been able conceal her excitement as she pushed the door closed on her waving parents. Bulma had pictured the blissful seven days of having the house to herself, alone with Vegeta, the night before. She'd imagined nothing but lounging in a lusty haze between intervals of steamy sex. That morning she'd worn her lacy black pushup and slightly mused her hair just for the occasion.

Another heavy sigh and she turned the page once again, the latest news in crankshafts and alternators suddenly uninspiring. There had been plenty of lounging on her part, that was for sure, but absolutely zilch sweaty, dirty Saiyan sex.

Her eyes skimming the words on the page stopped, frozen on the caption below a picture of a wrinkled, white-haired scientist.

"Dr. Gero," she murmured, blinking in disbelief. And to think, _this_ was the hellion behind everything, laid out plainly enough in one of her dad's science magazines. There was no fanfare about his image, just a brief discourse of his latest studies. She read the article carefully, looking for any signs of artificial human technology, but found nothing. At least, nothing that seemed sketchy. No, all she found was information on a small DNA project and a mind-numbingly simple dissertation on genomes.

Shuddering, she quickly turned the page, unnerved by the future-destroyer of Earth staring back at her. She smiled to herself as she realized she could, however, stand to look at a possible future-destroyer of Earth if he were a bit easier on the eyes.

The sound of the Gravity Chamber shutting off startled her, and she glanced up, clearly surprised, as the Saiyan Prince strolled into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

"Afternoon," Bulma greeted, tipping her head and flashing the Saiyan a grin. As expected, he arched a brow in her direction as his mouth tightened into a scowl. There would be no response from him. Bulma rolled her eyes.

Vegeta drained his glass, and quickly refilled it. After he was done, he left the empty glass on the counter.

"Whoa there bud," Bulma remarked, setting her magazine aside to glare at the dirty glass. "My mom's not around, so you're going to have to put your dishes away yourself."

Frowning, his eyes flashed from the empty glass to the smug-looking woman at the table. With a short, breathy 'feh', he turned around and left the kitchen.

Bulma, bored and cross and lonely, hoped to her feet and followed him down the hallway.

"Wait up Vegeta," she called, having to catch her breath as she neared the end of the hallway, just as Vegeta was pulling open a door. "You can't just walk away from responsibility!"

She thought she saw him smirk, before he slammed the door in her face.

With a stomp of her foot, Bulma's fist tightened before her. She was aware that she looked like a temperamental toddler, but she was too furious to care. "Vegeta! Dammit! Open up."

When he didn't respond, Bulma took a step back from the bathroom door and crossed her arms. With each passing second he ignored her, her ire only intensified.

She knew she should be attempting to be a bit pleasanter with the Saiyan. He'd probably be more inclined to go down on her if she smiled at him and complied prettily. But she was in a rotten mood, and Vegeta would probably think she was up to something had she gotten up and washed his dish by her own freewill anyway.

The door swung open, and Vegeta surveyed the fuming woman with a calm glance. Without waiting to hear what she had to say, he returned the way he'd come, back through the kitchen and outside towards the Chamber. He could feel the woman's ki as she raced to follow him, and he could taste the stream of insults on her tongue. He almost smirked at the glass, sitting on the countertop and the woman huffing behind him.

"Vegeta! I'm serious!" She called as he stepped onto the grass, pushing the door closed behind him. He heard it swing open, and her voice broke the serene silence of the outdoors. "It's just going to be you and me for seven days, so we've got to be civil towards one another. I'm just saying, put your freaking glass away when you're done, and I'll make sure there's dinner on the table." She paused to put her hands on her hips. "Deal?"

Reaching the Gravity Chamber, he turned and frowned at her. "Whatever woman."

"Good," she smiled. "And I also think—"

"If you insist on continuing this conversation, you're going to have to do it at 400-G's," he interrupted, and turning from her he opened the Chamber's hatch. "Currently, you are wasting my time."

Mouth agape, she listened as the Gravity Chamber clicked to life and she was left outside, alone once again.

* * *

He felt her ki, the low, annoying energy of a gnat lingering outside the Chamber. When she'd finally gone, he cranked the Gravity higher, and felt the instant strain on his muscles. Inhaling as he always did, he readied his lungs to the sudden pressure. It was liberating how easy 400-G's had become. It was frustrating how much more work there was still to be done.

It seemed his thoughts recently had been divided between sulking after his unattainable ascension, fuming about Kakarot, and wondering about the woman. They were all unpleasant things, and he couldn't wait to topple each one. The latter he had some more creative ideas about how to go about 'toppling', but it was the least significant of the three.

The night before, Kakarot had called and the idiot had wanted to speak to him over the silly human device. He did not wish to speak to Kakarot, and certainly didn't appreciate the woman going around _offering_.

Releasing another energy blast, he phased to the opposite side of the room, anticipating the bot's blinding reflection of his ki. He steadied it with a pant, and dropped to his knees.

Vegeta was exhausted, but not beaten. He would not give up until he'd ascended. All his life he'd worked to be the best, he'd striven to be the strongest, the most cunning, and he would not be second to a low class Saiyan. It was _he_ that carried the princely blood, _he_ that had been told, his father's hand resting on his shoulder, that he'd become the Legendary Super Saiyan. _He_ would be the strongest in the universe, and he'd laugh as he crushed Kakarot beneath his boot.

* * *

Bulma Briefs was a smart, sassy, independent lady. When she wanted something, she got it. And the Saiyan Prince was no exception.

Swinging the towel over her shoulders and adjusting the sunglasses over her eyes, she made the short walk from the CC Compound to the backyard. The Brief's family pool was outside, and so was the training Saiyan.

She knew she had somehow decided to take her mom's advice, and parading around in a bikini was a bit juvenile. Though it seemed Vegeta needed a reminder of what she had to offer him, and if he didn't make a move soon she'd probably end up making a move on him herself.

Bulma'd tossed her _Popular Mechanics_ aside for a sleazy gossip magazine, and as she rounded the Gravity Chamber, she rose on her tiptoes to peer inside the small, circular window. Inside, Vegeta was panting, a sheen of sweat on his bare chest, looking strange and beautiful washed in red light. She was taken aback at how gracefully he moved, how quickly he recovered, and how his eyes shone with fierce passion.

Taking a step back, Bulma shook her head and pretended to inspect a bolt on the side of the Chamber near the window. It made her feel less like a stalker, but only slightly. Inhaling deeply, she turned and marched purposefully towards the pool.

She'd lain, scantly clad, beside the water, sneaking glances towards the Chamber, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Saiyan Prince. But he never left, never so much as stepped out to spot her perfect body, which was now turning a painful shade of red.

Getting to her feet and tying her towel securely around her, she started towards the house, casting one last glare at the Chamber, and the man inside she realized she was borderline obsessed with.

* * *

Bulma's sleazy gossip magazine had another article about Yamcha in it, spotting him nearby, _not_ training in the desert. Not that she cared. It was just infuriating that her ex could move on, whether he'd been unfaithful in the past or not, and she couldn't even get the one guy she wanted between her legs to look at her. She glared at the food she was preparing. Of course, Vegeta would be sure to appear once dinner was ready. What had she been reduced to, she wondered; seething as she stirred the sizzling mixture in the pan, her fist compressing around the wooden spoon she was spinning idly.

Vegeta showed shortly before dinner was ready. He glanced at her, standing in the kitchen in the midst of one of her moods, and continued walking towards the stairway, up to his shower without a word.

When he returned, clearly clean but lacking any of the moisture Bulma always maintained after she tried her hardest to dry off, he pulled back a chair and took a seat at the table.

He didn't ask what they were having, though Bulma realized he never did. He probably hadn't a clue what he ate on a daily basis, and Earth food was probably just another something strange about this planet to him. He'd sampled hundreds of alien cuisines. She wondered how it compared.

"Good?" She asked, sliding into a chair across from his. He glanced at her, frowning. "I'm not fishing for a compliment," she explained, a quick roll of her eyes as she unfolded her napkin before placing it across her lap. "I just realize that you've eaten foods more foreign than I can imagine. I wondered how we faired, in the grand scheme of things."

"Your birds are small," he said, surprising her that he even bothered to answer her question.

"Our birds?" Bulma cocked her head to the side, looking perplexed. "We have ostriches. They're pretty large. For birds."

"You do not feed me the eggs of these ostriches then," he commented, eyes downcast, fixed on his food.

"No," Bulma shrugged, wondering what kind of creepy alien birds Vegeta had come across, and how large their eggs must have been. It was a strange thought, but not as strange as what Vegeta said next.

"The food here is decent."

Bulma nearly choked on her dinner at the nature of his compliment.

"There are good spices, and the meats are adequate."

"See?" She grinned. "Not everything here is awful, hey?"

She watched a vein in his brow throb, a muscle near his jaw twitch. Bulma laughed. "Is it really physically painful to admit that not everything on Earth is terrible?"

"Yes."

"Well, I bet you've never been with an Earth woman," she leaned across the table, trying to look seductive as she pinched her elbows across her chest, pushing her breasts together. She knew he could see her amplified cleavage, and the barest hint of her black pushup. "I hear they're pretty decent in the sack."

Vegeta gave no sign he'd heard her. He didn't even react to her show, his eyes quickly flashing up to her face before settling back on his meal. He seemed unaffected, and entirely unimpressed. Bulma felt the heat rise to her cheeks, and getting to her feet she gripped her plate and marched towards the sink. It wasn't effective, trying to look off-putting washing a dish and stuffing it into the dishwasher. When she turned back around, Vegeta was still stuffing his face impassive, as though she hadn't just offered herself to him in the midst of their meal.

He could feel her ki, hovering by the counter between the kitchen island and the table. He continued to eat, ignoring her presence as he pondered her words. Getting to his feet, he turned to leave the room, being sure to leave his dishes as they were.

"I'm not hideous."

He paused at the doorway, and turned to see the woman, her arms crossed and her face calm. She didn't look mad, or in the least bit embarrassed. He was almost impressed.

"No."

"Most men would be falling over themselves to fuck me," her eyes narrowed slightly, "but not you."

"Not me." He sounded tired. Vegeta had never fallen over himself, not once, for a woman, and he wasn't going to start now. She was ballsy, yes, and forward, which he did not mind.

"I'm not going to want you forever," she spoke, her voice even. She was done dancing around the subject. "This is your chance."

He studied her for a moment, expression level and dark eyes astute, before leaving the kitchen.

"Vegeta," she growled, catching up to him as he entered the living area. "You brute. I-"

Frowning, he turned to face her. In the light of the living room, she could see the dark circles beneath his eyes. She knew that he'd spent over a day training under intense pressure, but was still surprised to see his exhaustion so clearly written on his features. His legs shook, and she saw that his fists compressed at his sides, dark skin whitening over the swell of his knuckles, as he willed himself to stand straight.

"I have more important things to deal with, you stupid woman. Yes, you're attractive, and I will take you up on your offer. But right now I have to sleep, and then when I wake I have more training to do."

She wanted to shout at him that he needed a break; she could see what this routine was doing to him. "You have to stop pushing yourself," she said, instead of yelling she kept her voice calm. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"And then you'll have no one to fuck you."

Growling, she realized it was impossible trying to have a mature conversation with Saiyans. Bulma swung back her leg and kicked him. Her bare foot collided with his shin, and she stumbled backwards with a wail.

Despite his exhaustion, Vegeta smirked. It was amusing to watch the temperamental woman lose control.

"Fuck Vegeta!" She cried, her voice stern as her eyes welled with tears. Taking a seat on the arm of the couch, she lifted her leg for inspection. "I think you broke my foot."

"Hn." He crossed his arms. " _I_ didn't do anything."

"Well, damn…" She frowned. The rational part of her knew he was right, but she was far too pissed to admit it aloud. Flexing her foot, Bulma watched as her toes moved, a sure sign that it was not broken. Though her toes were starting to bruise. "I didn't know you were made out of _steel_."

He rolled his eyes. However, her tears made him pause by the edge of the door. His own shin was unaffected, a fact that was not surprising considering how physically powerless she was. Though he knew, crazy bitch that she was, she was not pathetic or weak. "Crying doesn't suit you." He blamed his vocalizing of his thoughts on his weariness, and cringed as they left his mouth to hang in the air of the living room.

"Okay tough guy," she rolled her eyes, leaning forward to inspect her bruising foot. "On Earth we're okay with a little crying. _Especially_ when someone breaks a bone."

Vegeta watched her from the doorway, fighting off his fatigue. His eyes swept over her. "It is not broken. Ice it, and even with your pathetic anatomy it should be healed by tomorrow."

She blinked, and when she glanced up he was gone. Frowning, she flexed her toes, noting that the stinging pain had faded to tenderness.

"Yeah," she mumbled to herself, getting to her feet. "Maybe I'll tell Goku about _this_. See how friendly he thinks we're getting along."

But she knew as she limped upstairs how strong both of the Saiyans were. Goku had once sent Chichi flying through a tree with a simple pat on her back. And besides, it was her own fault she'd gone and lost her temper and kicked him. Still, it was unnerving how easily he could crush her, if he wanted.

One thing was certain, she thought, closing her door to fall onto her bed, sinking into the plush blankets, alone. Her week alone with Vegeta was most certainly _not_ going as planned.

* * *

When Bulma awoke, face turned so she was staring at her alarm clock, glaring red numbers telling her that it was half-past ten, she heard the gentle hum of a machine to-work outdoors. Vegeta disappeared back into the Gravity Chamber, and she wasn't surprised. He needed minimal rest, and he'd probably be going to great lengths to avoid the crazy woman who'd practically _begged_ him to take her the night before.

Swinging her legs around, she slid her feet into her worn slippers. Her toes were bruised, but only tender when she tested them with a wiggle.

After making a pot of coffee, Bulma disappeared into her lab for the remainder of the day. She had a fourth cup of coffee for her lunch, and ate dinner alone. She did, however, leave a Vegeta-sized helping on the table. When she left her lab that evening, yawning as she rounded the kitchen to see that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning, she smiled at the empty plates she'd left piled with food for Vegeta. Her smile didn't even fade as she put his dishes away.

It had been a long day; her fingers ached from fiddling with small tools for hours, and her eyes burned from staring at figures on a computer screen. It was Day 2 with her parents gone. Pouring herself a drink, Bulma mixed the soda with liquor absentmindedly, and nearly jumped in surprise as the backdoor swung open.

She hadn't expected company, what with Vegeta avoiding her and her parents gone, but there he was, sweaty and glaring at her in the doorway. He closed the door, it smacking back against its frame, and Bulma swallowed.

"Hey, Vegeta." She finished mixing her drink, but refrained from consuming any. Her eyes were fixed on Vegeta. "Would you like one?" She motioned to the half-empty bottle on the counter, though she knew what she'd meant before she'd made the gesture. Slowly, it was becoming their 'thing'. "Kind of depressing, drinking alone."

Vegeta studied her for a long moment, before taking a seat. Bulma couldn't help the smile that inched across her features. Quickly pouring a second, she slid the glass towards him and leaned against the counter. A comfortable silence settled between them as she watched him take a long swig of his drink, his dark eyes distant and filled with emotion. Trying to define what exactly those 'emotions' were, Bulma was left unsure. It was unreadable, but if she looked past his narrowed, pensive eyes, she saw other signs. His shoulders were less rigid than usual, and though there was still tension in his frame, tension that she doubted would ever be fully expelled from a man like Vegeta, he seemed calmer than he had in a while. In fact, the last time she'd seen him relax remotely was the previous times they'd shared a drink.

"They have rum in space?"

He glanced at her, as though just remembering she were there, and frowned. "No," he shrugged, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. "But other liquors. Stronger than this."

"You don't strike me as much of a drinker," she commented, shrugging off his even, haughty tone and leaned forward. Though unlike last night, she was wasn't wearing a low-cut top or a sexy bra to show off.

"It is unwise to be intoxicated in the presence of one's enemy." He realized what he said and, smirking, took another sip. "Though when one's enemy can be taken down with a power level of a Saiyan infant, I see no harm in lowering my inhibitions."

Bulma rolled her eyes, hardly offended. "Did you have lots of enemies?"

"Everyone was," his mouth tightened around the word, " _is_ my enemy. My planet is gone; I have no allies."

"You could," her eyes were large and honest. He stared too long into them, noticing the way they darkened around the perimeter. "If you stayed. Goku has already forgiven you. You would be safe here."

"Safe?" He spat the word, followed by a clipped, bitter chuckle. "The last man who stands a chance killing me is here."

"Goku would never kill anyone."

"And that's a problem."

"He's just…" she sighed, her eyes darting from her glass, still full, to the Saiyan. "He's too nice, too good. It's difficult to be around sometimes, trust me, but he's not a bad guy to have on your side."

"Difficult to be around, ne?"

Bulma's jaw shifted. "Well, I just mean, I'm hardly perfect or innocent or anything. Sometimes all that goodness is… well, hard to stomach."

His lips twitched to a smile; he suspected Goku thought this woman was still quite pure. His thoughts lingered on _this woman_ , and he grunted. He'd been with his share of women, but he hadn't drank with any of them. He hadn't tried to decipher their actions or been impressed by their talents or wit. It was strange, sure, but he chocked it up to boredom. Who else did he have to think of when everyone else was either dead or Kakarot?

Draining his glass, he almost smirked as the woman stared at the empty glass expectantly. He could tell she was unhappy with his refusal to put his dishes away, but her unbridled annoyance was all the more fuel for not lowering himself to perform medial human tasks.

"We will have sex," he said, voice even. Bulma felt her heart pound, the anticipation once again rise inside of her. "When I am not so tired, and you don't insist on bringing up that idiot."

"Oh." She said, because she didn't know what else to say.

"I am sure it will be adequate," he continued, getting up from his seat and moving towards the entryway. "You say you will not want me forever, but I assume you'll still be plenty eager by the end of the week."

Blinking, her blue eyes focused on her glass, its condensation cool against her warm, sweaty fingers, before glancing up at the door as it was swinging shut.

The most annoying thing about Vegeta, more annoying than his smirk, worse even than how badly she wanted him to fuck her brains out, was how he always seemed to be right. Yes, he could pretend that he was too busy for her, but she knew waiting a few days would only serve to increase her anticipation. Her lips pursed, and she finished her drink, alone, deciding that, yes, they _would_ do it, and it would be on _her_ time not the selfish, homicidal, jerk-face of a prince's. And she would enjoy it, and she was sure as fuck that it would more than _adequate._

 


	9. Chapter 9

She'd meant to go out for the day to get some personal shopping done and perhaps see her stylist about her neglected hair. However, when she'd tossed the capsule for her favorite hovercar and turned the key in the ignition, she saw the orange _check engine light_ blinking on the dashboard. Bulma had several other vehicles at her disposal, all clipped neatly to her capsule belt, but her fingers itched to fix something. Suddenly new clothes and a more fashionable 'do were no longer at the forefront of her mind, and she encapsulated her car, beaming as she clutched it in her palm. She quickly disappeared back through the compound and into her lab where she went to work finding the source of the problem.

She checked the catalytic converter first before the oxygen sensor, and after several minutes of poking and prodding, and several more breathy curses, freed a spark plug and held it in front of her face for inspection. Her cheeks were smeared with grease and her clothes, which she hadn't bothered to change from her intended mall trip, were splotched and in desperate need of washing. She'd pulled her hair back, and her ponytail swayed as she tilted her head to one side, scrutinizing the faulty spark plug with a thoughtful frown.

Turning to grab for her box of spare parts, she watched as Vegeta entered her lab, a handful of metal scraps in his arms. Without a word, he deposited them on the floor of her lab; they clang noisily to the ground, but the prince seemed unaffected as he stared evenly at the blue haired scientist.

Bulma's eyes darted from her hovercar to the pile of oddments with an arched brow. She could not recognize what the metal bits had once been, but she had a hunch it was something to do with a Gravity Chamber.

"Good afternoon," she grinned, wiping her dirty hands on her pants. "What've you got for me today?"

The Saiyan's nose wrinkled at the filthy woman, watching as she kicked an oil pan to the side, its contents splashing against the concrete floor of the lab. The woman didn't seem to mind as she stepped over the mess without a second glance and detangled something from a grimy red box.

"This bot requires fixing."

"Ah," she noted, a small half-smile on her lips as she glanced towards the metal at Vegeta's feet. "So that was a bot."

Vegeta's features hardened as he watched her amused reaction, no sliver of annoyance at his latest violation of her precious inventions. Though she looked to be in the midst of working on something. Perhaps she was now in the mood to do something that was actually useful. Like helping him ascend.

"And quicken the retaliation," he spoke, crossing his arms as he glared down his sharp, aristocratic nose. "The delay is too slow."

Nodding, Bulma set to work on her replacing the part to her hovercar. "I can imagine the gravity has some effect on making them sluggish." She shrugged, and turning to Vegeta, "I'll see what I can do." With that, she winked, and returned to the task at hand.

Vegeta grunted before turning and leaving her lab. He could train with five bots in the meantime, but if the woman was able to upgrade them, which he had no doubt she could not, perhaps he would demand more.

Blue bangs skewed her vision, and she wiped at them with a grimy hand, frowning as the hair fell back in front of her face, now streaked with black grease. She released her hair, and was in the process of pulling it back up when the door to her lab opened.

Her back to the entrance, she laughed lightly. "What did you do this time?"

"Pardon?"

She dropped her hair and turned quickly, blue eyes wide. "Yamcha?" Lips fading to a slight frown, she smoothed her unruly hair. "You're not supposed to be here."

He looked surprised, and slightly hurt. Sure, he hadn't been a constant fixture in her life as of late, but he didn't expect to feel so unwelcome. "What?"

"I," she blinked, clearing her throat, "I have to make Vegeta lunch."

Yamcha watched, mouth slightly agape, as she pushed past him and exited the lab.

* * *

Vegeta had just made it to the backdoor when the woman's voice sliced through the kitchen, halting him.

"Not so fast," she said, tossing the fridge door open to glare inside at its contents; "We're having lunch."

Vegeta felt the weakling's energy in the hallway, fast approaching. He was hungry, true, but he was debating if he were willing to stomach a lunch with the pair of human idiots. His head hurt just thinking of their inane conversations and fights, always about faithfulness and emotions and _Kakarot_. The woman pulled several slabs of red meat from the refrigerator, and he paused by the doorway.

"Barbeque?" Yamcha asked, grinning as he entered the kitchen, pointedly avoiding Vegeta's glare as he watched Bulma survey a pair of sauce bottles carefully.

Her mouth pinched. "Mild or spicy?"

"Spicy," Vegeta grunted, his arms crossing as he remained rooted in the doorway watching the ribs on the counter with a sharp gaze.

Yamcha could only blink. He had figured Bulma would most likely be peeved by his sudden appearance, but what else was new? She always found a way to be at him for some reason or another. Honestly though, he hadn't expected her to ignore him. As it stood, she was being positively frosty towards him, but she smiled and agreed with Vegeta. In fact, she'd grinned prettily, even her eyes lighting up, as she said ' _good thinking!'_ before disappearing onto the deck to fire up the grill.

His throat was dry as he watched Vegeta follow her outside. He hadn't seen those two do anything but ignore one another, apart from the time she'd sat diligently at his bedside when she thought he was in harm's way. In fact, it was the very reason he'd been mad at her before, but he hadn't thought anything of us it since their last fight. It was strange; had they suddenly bonded over Bulma's care for him post-expolosion of the Gravity Chamber? Surely Vegeta wouldn't take kindly to someone worrying over him. Though, he was a stuck-up prince who seemed to like getting his way. Shaking his head, Yamcha murmured into the empty room, "What have I missed?"

Yamcha took the pickles and onions outside, where Bulma was marinating the beef on the grill, silver prongs in hand as her eyes narrowed in concentration. She was dirty, probably too unsanitary for cooking for them, but he'd always liked the way she looked after long bouts in her lab so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

He noticed the Briefs were gone, but he didn't say anything about that either. He only watched as his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend or whatever-the-heck they were these days, flipped the ribs while Vegeta sat at the picnic table, arms crossed and eyes narrowed to some speck in the distance. Yamcha could vaguely feel Goku's power level rising in that direction, and frowned. There was hatred in Vegeta's eyes, but it seemed to melt away as soon as Bulma said his name. In fact, he didn't even seem upset as Bulma pulled the meat from the grill and handed him a jar of pickles.

"Ug," she frowned, shaking the container in front of Vegeta's face, green juice swirling inside. "I can't get this open."

Soundlessly, Vegeta took the jar and pulled the lid off. Not the way a normal person would, mind you, and Yamcha felt his jaw drop. Vegeta had just _pulled_ the lid clean off the jar, shards of glass spilling over the table. To Yamcha's chagrin, Bulma only rolled her eyes as she stared into the pickle jar.

"I better not eat any glass," she said, and Yamcha caught the shadow of a smile on her lips, the glint of amusement in her eyes.

He felt his heart well inside his chest at the casual, familiar way the pair went about their lunch. His own rack of ribs lay forgotten on his plate as he watched their slight exchanges. They joked about things he didn't understand, and there was no malice as the glanced over when the other wasn't looking. In fact, they seemed to be on rather good terms.

Bulma frowned. "You okay?" She glanced from Yamcha's plate to meet his eyes; her brows knitted in confusion. "Not hungry?"

"Uh," Yamcha blinked, sliding his plate away with a shake of his head. "No, actually I'm not feeling well."

"Oh," she said, giving a slight shrug. Truthfully, she hadn't been exactly sure why he'd come by at all. "See you around?" She asked as Yamcha got to his feet.

Scratching his neck, he tried his best to smile. He could feel the cold sweat at his neck, the heat of the day evaporating the pooling displays of his anguish. Eyes darting from the beautiful blue hair woman to the arrogant Saiyan scarfing down ribs, who was still ignoring him, Yamcha nodded. "Yeah. See you around."

He trudged inside; through he house he'd had a near-constant presence in for a decade, shutting the front door securely behind him. Yamcha was not dumb. Though he reminded himself that neither were Bulma or Vegeta. They were insiders though, too stubborn and self-absorbed to see anything beyond their own noses. No, but he could see the possibility. What had Goku said, when he'd clasped his hand on Bulma's shoulder? _Have a healthy baby_. And at the time he'd so stupidly thought Goku had been wishing them both well. However, he could see now that he was wrong, so incredibly wrong. His mind buzzed. A Saiyan from the future, wearing clothes from Capsule Corporation? And besides, who else could have built a time machine? The kid had looked like Vegeta, but he had Bulma's completion and definite Brief's coloring. The pieces began to fall into place, and with each revelation he felt his chest tighten that much more.

"No," he shook his head as he approached his new hovercar, staring at his skewed reflection in they shiny red paint. "It can't be…"

But as he clinched the door handle, he knew it was possible. As much as he could not believe it, he didn't think he could stick around to watch it happen. So he left.

* * *

After lunch, Bulma went back to her lab while Vegeta disappeared into the Gravity Chamber. She'd shrugged off Yamcha's sudden departure, and Vegeta acted like he hadn't noticed Yamcha had been there at all. But that was Vegeta's way, to just ignore anything that didn't affect him directly. She almost wished she could be so aloof.

She replaced the spark plug before beginning the reconstruction of the severed bot. Bulma found herself almost amused by the state of the training device. How was it even possible to take something metal and fully functioning and reduce it to nothing but a pile of indecipherable scraps? Of course she was slightly irritated, all of her hard work to be destroyed and deposited on the floor of her lab once again, but it was Vegeta and she'd grown to expect nothing else. As long as he remained under her roof, he'd always be moody and demanding. He would always break her things and demand they be fixed, and he would always be welcome there so long as he didn't go on a killing spree.

Bulma continued to contemplate such things as she waited for the plasma screen to power on, punching in the dimensions of the bots as she waited. It was a series she'd long since memorized, and one her father joked they'd likely never forget.

Outside, Vegeta was cranking up the gravity, feeling lethargic with his stomach full and mind elsewhere. He tried to train, but his thoughts continued to drift towards the woman. It was maddening, the way his body continued to dodge energy blasts while his mind reflected on the way the she grinned at him during lunch, her cheeks smeared and her hair sweaty and pulled back from her face. It was inconvenient, and when one of the blasts skimmed his right arm, he shut off the gravity, hand slapping against the council while a scowl encompassed his features, and exited the Chamber with a slam of the door.

He heard the heavy door collide with its metal frame, the vibration echoing across the yard with a hallow clang. No one nearby would think anything of it. They were accustomed to the strange antics of the Capsule Corps. lawn. Vegeta was quite certain he could not have eased into any household on this blasted planet as seamlessly as he had with the trio of absurd Briefs. And as annoying as they were, it was a far better alternative than his other options. Imagine, living with Kakarot and his shrieking harpy along with the brat and the Namekian, or staying with the old pervert and the bald midget. He shuddered.

He found the woman in the living area, a can of soda in her and her eyes fixed on the television set.

"Hey Vegeta," she greeted as he approached, her eyes meeting his before returning to the TV. "I'm kinda spent. Mind if we order a pizza for dinner?" She laughed, catching herself though her eyes never strayed from her program. "Okay, so maybe more than _a_ pizza for you."

It had only been a few hours since their lunch, but he was never one to refuse food. So he shrugged, and she glanced at the clock.

"Alright. I'll order it in a bit. It might take a little while to make and deliver that many pizzas," she paused and Vegeta watched from the doorway as her face scrunched in thought, "I wonder if we should have called ahead."

He said nothing. She got up and entered the kitchen, and from where he stood with his back to her he heard her talking, placing an order for their dinner to be delivered. When she reentered the room, she smiled at him.

"It'll be an hour and half. Until them, I'm going to take a shower," she said, and glancing down at her soiled clothing her nose subconsciously crumpled. Vegeta wondered how someone who kept things in such disorder, who could carelessly splashed oil on the floor and never make her bed, was so disgusted by a little dirt beneath her fingernails. But he grabbed a soda of his own and settled onto the couch, frowning at the television and wondering once more how these humans came up with such ways to waste their time. He could think of far better ways to spend his own time between training and sleeping, and he smirked.

Bulma made the trek upstairs to her shower, whirling the faucet to a high stream and an ever-higher temperature. Almost instantly she watched as the steam gathered, the vapor collecting above the slick, white tiles of the shower floor.

She slid the glass door closed and moved to the mirror, wiping her hand across the surface to expunge a streak of clear glass. Leaning forward, Bulma turned on the sink and splashed cool water on her face, being sure to rub at the oil staining her cheeks and chin. She'd then pulled back her bangs, and was dabbing her forehead clean when the bathroom door opened, revealing the Saiyan Prince, his back straight as he stood between the bathroom and the empty hallway. When she glanced up through the reflective streak in the mirror, she found his dark eyes on her.

She blinked, clearly surprised by the Saiyan scowling at her from the doorway. Hadn't she just said she was going to take a shower?

"I assume," he spoke, ending her confusion, his voice low as he stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him. Bulma shivered, but she wasn't sure whether to attribute it to the sudden burst of cool air or the suffocating presence of the Saiyan Prince. "That you're still interested."

As soon as he'd spoken the words, Bulma felt the smile inch its way across her lips. She leaned back, resting her weight on the bathroom counter as he approached. She heard his footsteps, feet clad in the worn white boots he'd been wished back in, over the sound of the pounding shower, and as she had a fairly good idea what was to happen she contemplated shutting her shower off. Unless, of course, he was planning on _joining_ her. As it was, she remained rooted where she was, backside flush against the lip of the countertop, eyes wide and lips parted.

**( For anyone who said they'd be uncomfortable reading a bit of sex, I'll warn you now to skip ahead.)**

He stood in front of her, conveniently shirtless, and she could read the signs of inclination clearly through the jutting erection straining the thin lycra of his training shorts.

"Vegeta," she said, her vocal chords hoarse despite the fact that she hadn't given them much work. She smirked as he took a step towards her, _yet_ anyway.

He quickly closed the distance between them, his erection now pulling upwards, pressing against her navel. She gasped, not sure if she was surprised or simply satisfied by the hardness of it. He'd obviously known what he wanted the moment he'd stepped into her bathroom, and it did wonders for her vanity.

"Already?" She grinned coyly, though his dark eyes remained unchanged as he pressed himself fully against her. Bulma buckled further back against the counter, knowing of the strength the arms that held her at her waist, and shivering at thought of the pain and pleasure they could supply.

He didn't seem interested in talking and nudging her legs apart, Vegeta stepped between them and pressed his open mouth against the long, salty curve of her neck. She gasped and let her head loll to one side, her fingers darting from his bare shoulders upwards to his temples before knitting into his coarse, dark hair.

He moved from her neck to her jaw, and she swore she felt the faint curve of a smirk as he pressed his lips against her ear.

Shrugging off her shirt, she felt the simultaneous warmth of the shower's steam and of Vegeta's hands on her exposed stomach. Just as she was cursing herself for not wearing a sexier bra that day, Vegeta had flicked his thumb between her breasts, slicing through the bridge of the garment so it slung awkwardly from either shoulder.

Bulma's eyes narrowed, but her ire evaporated the moment she felt his hands, warm and calloused, splaying outwards to cup either breast. He pinched one of her areolas between his thumb and forefinger, as she rocked reflexively against him as he applied a bit of pressure.

One hand moved to steady her hip as his other flicked her right nipple, pink and swollen beneath his touch. He lowered his head, and blew at the flesh, watching as it rippled with bumps before brushing his tongue across it.

" _Vegeta_ ," she whispered breathily, "Fuck." His hand clenched her hip; her hands tightened in his hair. As if an afterthought, she added, equally breathless, "me."

Bulma had wanted him too badly, and for too long now. There was little need for foreplay, and despite the open door and cool air steam crammed the room as she felt the familiar twinge of pressure inside of her grow.

Vegeta did not seem to mind; he quickly brought his head up to press against her lips, and she parted them the moment his touched hers. Her hands moved from his hair to plant on the counter, resting on either side of her as Vegeta quickly pitched her upwards so she was sitting on the bathroom counter. She wiggled out of her pants as he peeled off his shorts and boots. It was quick and frantic, and though she might have thought, had she been watching the scene play out, it was far from sexy it was the furthest thing from her mind as she tossed her jeans to the floor.

Leaning back, Bulma flashed a seductive smile, but the moment was interrupted as her head conked painfully against the mirror. She laughed as Vegeta frowned down at her, but with her head pressed against the mirror and her forearms resting on the counter, she slid forward, her butt dipping off the ledge to press against his hardness.

She watched his chest, chiseled and glistening in the scalding bathroom, rise with a quick intake of breath, and Bulma lifted her legs so that they rested on either side of Vegeta's shoulder. With a smirk, Vegeta bent one of her knees to shrug off her panties before grabbing her ankle and situating it back on his shoulder.

As he moved to enter her, Bulma's eyes, darkened with lust, settled on him and she gasped, feeling his swollen head pressed at her entrance. It had been so, _so_ long and she longed for him inside of her. It had been her favorite fantasy as of late, and she knew he could not disappoint. However, there was something else she wanted, something Vegeta had never given to her.

"My name," she panted, so low had he not been a Saiyan he might not have heard it. Grunting, he sent her a jaded glance. Bulma shook her head and scooted backwards. "Say it."

He wasn't sure if he'd ever said it aloud before, but it didn't make a difference. He'd sure as hell thought it enough lately. As he remained pressed against her entrance, he met her blue eyes. "Bulma," he grunted between clenched teeth before thrusting forward, hands clinched around either ankle, her toes curling near his ears, as he entered her fully.

**(probably a good place to continue reading)**

When Vegeta released her, she lowered her legs and hopped off the bathroom counter, her shaky limbs giving slightly and she had to lean against the counter, the lip of it once again digging painfully into her backside.

His dark eyes met hers, and Bulma grinned. Taking a unstable step forward, she pressed a kiss against his jaw just as a series of shrill _dings_ sounded from downstairs. Vegeta growled and gripped her hip, and as he looked over her shoulder he saw their angled, naked bodies reflected back to him skewed by the haze of condensation.

Bulma laughed and pulled her head away from the crook of his neck to look him in the eye. He turned from her reflection and smirked. Catching her lower lips between her teeth she released another short chuckle and arched one of her thin brows. "Pizza?"

 


	10. Chapter 10

She crossed her arms over her chest, staring outside through the slatted blinds. A curtain of rain skewed her vision, her yard looking rather somber beneath the grey skies. A crack of thunder erupted, breaking the silence, and she felt a shiver race down her spine.

Brining the cup of hot tea to her lips, she stared past the downpour and reminded herself that it was silly to be afraid of the weather. In fact, it was silly to be afraid of anything while three of the toughest men on the planet were currently seated around her kitchen table - not that she wasn't perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Moreover, she reminded herself, a little rain was good for the radishes.

"Thwis is fantastic Chwichwi!"

She turned from the window and the storm outside to frown at her husband, grinning at her through a mouthful of food.

"Goku," she scolded, her crossed arms tightening against her chest. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

Swallowing audibly, Goku nodded, but quickly stuffed another helping of noodles into his mouth with a grin. He couldn't help but smile when he was happy. And food definitely got him in high spirits.

Chichi's eyes darted from her husband, nosily shoveling food away, to her son, to rest finally on the green-skinned man sitting at the head of the table. His arms were crossed, she reflexively brought hers down to rest at her sides, and his eyes were closed.

"Er," she glanced down at the heaping piles of food on the table, before frowning at the alien. Personal feelings aside, she hated being a poor host. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can get you?"

Piccolo's eyes opened, and he glanced at the glass of water placed in front of him. "I am fine."

She nodded, and quickly looked away. Piccolo had been distant, sure, but certainly polite since his arrival to her home. Well, besides forcing her only son to train rather than concentrate on his studies, but it was still unnerving having him around. He was an _alien_. Then again, so was her husband.

With a sigh, she took a seat at the table and filled her own bowl with a modest human-size portion.

They ate, the sound of the rain beating against the roof and the occasional rumbling of thunder in the distance keeping the silence at bay. Until Goku leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, clearly done with dinner.

"Do you know what today is, Chichi?"

She paused and thought for a moment, before shaking her head. "No." He sounded curious rather than expectant, but she asked just incase. "Should I?"

"Nope," Goku shrugged, "I was just wondering the date."

"It's the twenty-seventh," Gohan noted, not glancing up from his food. Since he hadn't been able to slip _usufruct_ into the five-hour training session that afternoon it was nice to see that his 'Word of the Day' calendar was useful for something.

"Oh," Goku whistled. "So not long now."

Chichi sighed, "Goku, please," she closed her eyes, reeling her temper in. She knew exactly what her husband was getting at, but wasn't looking forward to another one-sided shouting match. "Not at the dinner table." Pausing she glanced over at her son. "And not in front of Gohan."

"Well," he shrugged, scratching the back of his head as he avoided the glare in his wife's gaze. "Maybe I should give them another call. I promised Trunks that his parents would get together in this timeline, and I know those two…"

"You promised him," Piccolo voice cut in as soon as Goku began trailing off, "that you wouldn't meddle."

Chichi shifted her gaze from the Namekian to the Saiyan with a stiff nod. "Piccolo is right. And I heard your last phone conversation with Bulma." She rolled her eyes. "It wasn't exactly smooth on your part." Not that she had expected it would be when her husband grabbed for the phone, saying he wanted to 'check up on things'.

Goku looked ill as he thought it over. He didn't want to blame himself for anything going awry in this universe, and himself, Piccolom and his family were the only ones that could ensure things panned out they way they were supposed to.

Seeing the pained expression encompass his father's features, Gohan smiled. "Don't worry dad. It will happen."

"I just…"

"I know," he interrupted, "But it will."

* * *

When she rounded the hallway and entered the kitchen she blinked, surprised to find Vegeta standing by the sink, a glass of milk in his hand. He was dripping wet and was silhouetted by a flash of light outside the window. Bulma watched the portrait of the menacing villain before her, and broke into a grin.

He turned to face her, not that he hadn't sensed her slowly trudging down the halls, to shoot her a jaded stare.

"Well," she said, still beaming, "if it isn't short, dark, and cranky."

His glare hardened as she took a few steps towards him, closing some of the distance between them. "No worries Vegeta," she winked, reaching out to pat his cheek, "you're plenty handsome."

He reeled back and successfully avoided her touch, glaring at the offending limb as she lowered it back to her side.

"What are you blabbering about?" He asked, setting the empty glass beside the sink and trying to push past the still-grinning female. She cocked her head to the side and feigned a pensive stare, complete with wide eyes, and brought her finger to tap against her parted lips.

"I was just blabbering about your good looks." When he made it to the back door, she shook her head. Glancing towards the window, where a silver vein cracked the sky, setting light to the torrential rainfall, she frowned. "Wait, you're not going back into that storm, are you?"

His chuckle resounded in the still kitchen. Bulma bit her lower lip at the shameful, wonderful shiver that raced down her spine upon hearing such a sinister sound.

"I have training to do," his dark eyes fixed on her, his lips shifting to a frown. "Some ridiculous Earth storm isn't going to stop me."

"I don't think Saiyans are impervious to lighting strikes," she noted with a shrug. She wasn't sure if lightening could even harm him, not that she was actually worried such a thing would happen in the first place. Really, she'd just rather stay inside where it was warm and dry, and it she'd prefer to have Vegeta indoors with her. Not that what _she wanted_ would have any effect on his whereabouts.

When he didn't say anything but made no move to leave, she continued. "Dry yourself off before coming in next time. You're soaked." Water dripped from his boots to puddle around his feet. "I'm going to have to turn on some of the cleaning bots to mop up this mess."

"Hn," he snorted. "I am not your servant."

She smiled as she watched the way he hovered by the door despite how easily he could flee the conversation if he chose. "Yeah, well, I'm not _your_ servant either." Her eyes narrowed. "So towel off, tough guy."

"And if I don't?" One of his dark brows arched in question, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "What will you do about it?"

"I've given you a roof over your head," she said with a shrug, reverting to one of her favorite keep-Vegeta-inline threats ,"and I can take it away with a snap of my fingers."

"I think you forget how easily I could snap you in half," he commented. His tone was low and gravely, and despite the nature of his words, Bulma smiled.

"Oh?" Taking a step forward so they were only standing a few inches apart, her lips quipped as their gazes locked. "Back to the fantasy of killing me again?"

"'Back' assumes that I contemplated otherwise," his smirk never faltered. "Trust me woman, there has yet been a time when I considered anything besides blasting this planet to oblivion with you on it."

She sighed, but wasn't surprised by his candor. "Well you're going to have to hold off on killing me." She crossed her arms and her pointed glare darkened. She was positively cross, despite her casual tone. Outpoured her second favorite threat. "You harm one hair on my head, and I'll have Goku come over and-"

"Yes," his jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing a fraction. "Your _best friend_ Kakarot," he spat, his mocking tone suddenly bitter. She noticed his eyes held the unbridled severity of raw passion they always did whenever he spoke of his fellow Saiyan. "Tell me, when's the last time you've spoken with him? For all you talk about that idiot, I've never once seen him come around."

Her heart tightened in her chest, and her face betrayed her emotions. Vegeta watched at the simultaneous flash of surprise and hurt in her eyes. They were large and glassy, and he hated the way he could see every hint of sentiment in them. Apparently Kakarot was a sore spot for her, too. If it were possible, his aspiration to kill him amplified.

The anger won out over her hurt, and with a growl Bulma reached forward and shoved him. Unsurprised by her toddler's tempter, he reached out and caught her arms. She wiggled in his grasp, angry with him and Goku and Yamcha and the androids. With everything it seemed. But Goku and Yamcha weren't coming around, and the androids had over a year before their arrival. Only Vegeta stood in front of her, his eyes dark and his jaw clinched.

He loosened his grip, wondering why he bothered catching her in the first place. He knew her pushing would do far more damage to her hands than it would to him, and no amount of her shoving could budge him a centimeter. Vegeta met her eyes, giving her a hard, steady glare, and wondered when he'd suddenly started looking out for her safety. It was her own damn business if she wanted to go around being an idiot all the time. Still, he held her arms, his grip loose just above her elbows; he felt the limbs shaking in his grasp.

It hurt, she told herself, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but only physically. That's why she felt tears well in her eyes, but she still had enough hold over the rational side of her brain to understand that his word's stung. Far more than they should have. It was just another lighthearted fight. It wasn't that he meant it, and her chest shouldn't tighten at the realization that neither Saiyans really gave a crap about her, despite how strongly she'd grown to feel for both of them.

It was just that Vegeta, "Vegeta…"

He still held her arms in place; she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. Her lips were soft, her mouth warm. He could feel her heat through his damp training clothes. Subconsciously, his grip tightened on her arms, but she voiced no protest and felt no pain. Dragging another kiss from him, he allowed himself to pull her closer, and he forgot that he was angry with her. He even forgot that he'd only been taking a short training break as she parted her lips and kissed him again.

Then they were moving into the hallway. Bulma shrugged her light jacket off and tossed it to the floor. His hands were on her, his mouth still moving against hers. They moved up the stairs, towards her bedroom.

She tugged off his damp shirt outside her door, her fingers running impatiently along the muscles of his back.

He heard her say his name, panted through her parted lips before his mouth descended upon hers once more. Vegeta stepped over a shirt, his own, which she hadn't bothered to pick up. It was long since dried with blood from weeks ago when he'd allowed her to treat his side; the first time she'd put her mouth on his, on her bed

Her bed. It was unmade, her purple sheets clumped at the foot of it, her pillows scattered along the top. Briefly, he wondered why a single person required so many pillows. It was probably a silly human custom, one that he didn't dwell upon further because her thumbs were tucked into the waistband of his shorts and the most delicious smile was on her lips.

Well, she thought, tugging on the fabric, at least she'd been able to clean herself _before_ hand this time.

She still wasn't sure where they stood, but she didn't care. It seemed trivial to be thinking instead of doing, and as he nudged her knees apart with his own, and she traced her fingertips along his torso, all she wanted to do was act, not think.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, she was aware of the sun streaming through her curtains and the absence of the pounding rain. Yawning, she rolled onto her side and pulled the comforter to her chin. She knew it was bright outside and she should be awake, but she'd yet to have her morning coffee and she wasn't in the mood to summon the energy to get out of bed to make it.

Bulma could feel the curve of a smile on her lips, and when she stretched her legs she felt the sore pull of well-used muscles. Her arm reached out for the spot beside her and felt the cold sheets, unsurprised. She knew Vegeta required minimal sleep, and he trained relentlessly on mere hours of rest. Though she longed for some lingering warmth on her blanket, she would have been worried had he quit his routine to linger at her bedside.

At the thought, she laughed. Vegeta wasn't the kind of guy to even think about her reactions to him being in her bed when she awoke or not. If he knew it peeved her slightly to find him gone, he'd probably go out of his way to never be there when she got up. Besides, all that mattered was that he'd been there in the first place. It was definitely a positive turn of events in Bulma's eyes. One she hoped would last until the androids arrived. And who knew, maybe, eventually, he'd change his mind and decide Earth wasn't worth destroying. Especially not while she was still on it.

* * *

He flipped out of the way, his neck snapping to the right to avoid the blast hurling in his direction. His legs thumped against the wall of the Chamber, propelling himself backwards. A smirk on his features, he watched as the blast collided with the metal and he lifted his arms, a blue blast forming in his palms. With a shout, he shot the energy blast at the other's center. They hit and erupted in a ball of blinding light. His foreman reflexively moved to cover his eyes, and the white-hot heat of energy enveloped his frame. When the amalgamated blasts died out he stood panting, but unscathed.

Vegeta's dark eyes darted to each of the bots, seeing that they too had come out with minimal damage. Some part of him nodded towards the woman's work. It seemed the bots were actually improving. She still held one hostage in the mess of her lab, promising him that she was still working on it, and he knew she'd come through.

It was unsettling, he thought, catching his breath in the high gravity. He felt the weight of it on his hair and his lungs, but he pushed through. Never in his life had he relied so heavily upon one person. The woman, Bulma, had once been a distant presence he tried to ignore. He'd sought her out for the occasional quipped quarrel, but her erratic temper and haughty grin had him putting a barrier between them. And then somehow he'd gone from wanting a little company to sharing her bed, being genuinely interested in her scientific creations, and as he was doing now, seeking out her energy to see if she was in the kitchen, making his midday meal. Or perhaps just seeking out her energy for no apparent reason.

He'd never doubted that he would fuck her. What other choice did have, really? But he hadn't thought even now, after they'd done it on more than one occasion, that she would still be on his mind. So they would continue their arrangement. And he'd fight the androids. And then he'd kill Kakarot. And then he'd steal her ship and blast this planet into the next dimension. With her on it, and it would make no difference to him.

But he could feel it, the nagging tick somewhere in his gut, the one that taunted him, reminded him how weak he'd gotten. Somehow his inability to ascend, to be stronger than Kakarot, begged the question if he would actually go through with it. He pictured the woman, useful in her ways, amusing in her mannerisms and wit, and he felt himself power down.

"No," he grunted, regaining control of his ki and raising his palms to blast her bot, wishing it was her, just to prove to that part of him that he could still do it. No length of time on Earth could fundamentally change who he was. Perhaps he was softer, but he was not _soft_. Perhaps he was stronger even, but it felt like he'd never be strong enough.

Though as much as he tried to picture the bot as her, he knew it wasn't. He could feel her ki in her lab, and though he believed physically he _could_ do it, he didn't _want_ to. At least not yet. Between her drinks and her lithe, naked body beneath his, she'd warded off the nightmares of Frieza's torment and the thoughts of Kakarot's taunting power. He had something to do, someone to talk to. She made him content, and the mere thought of it made his energy erupt. Frustration shook his frame, and his fists clinched before him as he felt power jolt through his veins. It was a power unlike he'd never felt before, and he tried to release it and control it all at once. He let it erupt, shouting through his ground teeth, his legs sliding apart as he threw his head back in agony and anticipation. It had to be, his bleary mind screamed through the pain inside him. But as his fists clinched before him, and he saw his energy, blue and crackling, fizzle he felt the power slip away. His veins no longer burnt and his head no longer reeled with hazy, foreign power. It was once again unattainable, situated inside of him in that place he couldn't tap, and as he powered up, again and again, he felt the empty sting of nothingness. He was strong, but he was not a Super Saiyan.

It was closer than it had ever been before, and as he slipped to his knees, his hands reaching out and catching his weight, trembling fingers splaying against the cool metal floor, he panted. Blood and sweat dripped from his brow as he steadied his breathing. He was exhausted, but he was that much closer to attaining what still felt like the unattainable.

* * *

Her mom was still gone, and so Bulma departed her lab to make the assuredly grumpy Saiyan lunch. As she passed a window, she glanced outside to the lawn, where a thick layer of dew coated on the grass, and where the Capsule 03 sat on the lawn. She enjoyed the slight humming of machinery at work, and listened to the jarring hiccups as the man inside shot energy blasts against the sturdy metal framework she'd crafted to endure the hardships of space, not temperamental Saiyans.

Overturning her coffee mug into the sink, she sighed and swiped her hands across her tired eyes. Despite her long, peaceful sleep, she'd been feeling drained lately. It seemed both she and Vegeta walked around in a tired haze more often than not. She would have to see if perhaps she could coax him into sleeping in one morning. It wouldn't do if they were too tired to fight the androids when they arrived.

Doubtful, but she was persistent.

Bulma set to work on lunch, and just as the delicious smells filled the kitchen, she heard the gravity outside shut off. She wondered if he could smell the food from out there, or if his internal clock was so precise that he knew how long since she'd been at work in the kitchen. It was slightly unnerving living with a man who could track her every move, but she'd never been one to run and hide from her problems, so there would most likely never be a time she wanted to fly completely under Vegeta's radar.

"Afternoon, Vegeta," she greeted, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as he slammed the door behind him.

He glanced at her, exhaling through his nose at the toothy smile she flashed him.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" She continued. The lack of company hadn't bothered her. Sure Vegeta wasn't much of a talker, and he was pretty lousy at nodding and letting her know he was listening, but he was at the very least _someone_ to talk to.

"Go get cleaned up," she instructed, turning her back to him and grinning at the pair of eyes she felt glaring at the back of her skull. "By the time you're out of the shower, lunch will be ready."

His teeth gnashed painfully, but because he was grimy and sweaty and the food was not ready, he complied, trudging up the stairs to shower. When he returned, dressed in another pair of training shorts and a loose navy t-shirt, the woman was placing piles of food on the table.

The water had relaxed his tired muscles, but hadn't done much to wake him.

When the woman asked if he'd like anything to drink, his brow arched slightly. He was almost disappointed when she pulled out a few sodas for his choosing. He'd thought she meant alcohol.

She joined him at the table, a can of root beer in her hand, and glanced in his direction. "The bot is almost finished," she said, filling her plate as Vegeta did the same. He didn't look up, and she continued. "Your boots are pretty beat up."

He paused and glanced down at the off-white boots on his feet. They had once been the pristine white of his gloves, the gloves she'd constructed for him.

"If you'd let me get you some shoes, I could take those to the lab and design you some more."

Nodding, he continued to eat, knowing that she'd do so as she wished. No amount of his enthusiasm, what little he had to offer, or his protest, of which he could supply plenty, would stop her from getting what she wanted.

"Alright then," she shrugged, getting no reaction from him. "I'll order you a pair today. I think you'd like sneakers. They're really quite comfortable."

He glanced at her feet, clad in worn slippers, and frowned. Her footwear was as varied as sky-high heels to combat boots. As ridiculous as Earth fashion was, he'd quite liked the getup she'd worn on Namek. Frowning, his fist compressed around the fork, and he felt it give way. Similar thoughts flashed casually through his mind all too often now, and it was pushing him over the edge.

She saw the metal fork bend in his grip, the crease in his brow, and chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip for a moment before interrupting the silence.

"Truce?"

He blinked and glanced up from his meal. "What?"

"I-" she sighed, "It feels like we're often angry with one another. But if you haven't noticed, we're all each other's got."

Taking a moment to process her words, his loosened his grip on his fork. "And?" Yes, she might be his only acquaintance, but he didn't need anyone.

"All I'm saying is we're…" shrugging, she twirled her food around with her utensil. "We spend a lot of time together outside of fucking and fighting, and I'm starting to think of you as a friend."

His calculated stare focused on her, and she could read nothing on his dark features.

"I'm not asking you to stick around after the androids, to come to join me for popcorn and a movie, but while you're here we can still have talks over drinks." She smiled, just the slightest quip of her lips, but her eyes lit up. "Come to bed with me."

Despite his fatigue, he felt the rise of a smirk on his features. "Again?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Letch," he breathed with a tired chuckle.

"You look exhausted." She commented, ignoring his comment, knowing that she was also sleep deprived, and her eyes took in the signs of his physical exhaustion as they roamed over his features. Bulma hated having to spell it out for him, but sometimes dealing with Vegeta was difficult. "You could use a nap."

"A nap?"

She laughed. He looked appalled, and his features crinkled in obvious disgust.

"It's just a nap Vegeta," she grinned. "You'll feel ten times better. More awake. I can't imagine you'll be able to ascend when your body is barely able to hold itself up."

He thought back to earlier in the Gravity Chamber, when he'd felt unbridled power at his fingertips. He could touch it, and had almost gotten hold of it. Watching the woman's eyes on him he wondered if perhaps she were right. Maybe a little rest would help his body to refuel. Some much-needed sleep, and then tomorrow he would be able to do what he hadn't been able to today. That had to be it. He wasn't too weak to control the power inside of him, just simply too drained.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon, but Vegeta'd once said time was inconsequential to him. After they finished lunch, Bulma cleared the dishes and went to the stairs, a smile on her lips as she felt Vegeta at her heels.

He hadn't agreed to it with words, but Bulma knew he'd silently accepted her truce. Far too tired to contemplate on what exactly that meant, she decided she'd have tomorrow to ponder more on Vegeta and the state of their relationship. For now, all she wanted was to sleep.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Her slipper-clad feet padded across the carpeted hall, and she peeked into the doorway before entering to see Vegeta sprawled out on her bed, calves tangled in the mess of purple blankets, one arm dangling off the edge. His head was turned to face her and she smiled around the toothbrush hanging from her mouth at the calm expression on his usually severe, angular features.

It was nine o'clock in the evening, and though she'd just showered after waking from their post-lunch nap less than an hour ago she was surprised that Vegeta had continued to sleep. Swiping the toothbrush noisily across her teeth, she watched as his back rose with each breath and wondered how long he could sleep. When her mouth filled to the brim with minty foam, she reluctantly trudged back to her bathroom and gargled, swishing the cool from one bulbous cheek to the other.

Smiling at her clean, white smile in the mirror, and winking for good measure, Bulma tightened the belt of her bathrobe and made her way downstairs, not without glancing in at the Saiyan still asleep, tanned cheek mashed into one of her fluffy, purple pillows as he snored softly.

She couldn't help but smile fondly as she turned her back to the sight. She only hoped he awoke feeling as refreshed as she had, and as she made the short trek downstairs to check the mail and go about her daily business she remembered that just yesterday she'd convinced herself that she'd never have the privilege of seeing him sleep in longer than her.

"Well," she murmured aloud, rounding the living area with what felt like a near-permanent grin on her features, "what do you know. He does require sleep after all."

She wondered if his mood would improve now that he'd finally gotten a bit of uninterrupted shut-eye, but doubted that his personality had anything to do with his exhaustion. No, he was just a temperamental little prick with a chip on his shoulder and a stick up his arse. A temperamental little prick she was starting to concede she rather liked having around.

He'd awoken to find himself, alone, in the woman's bed. The clock at her bedside told him that it was nearing ten o'clock with its glaring red numbers, and the darkness outside made it apparent that it was not morning. Cursing, he got to his feet and dressed quickly before fleeing to the Gravity Chamber. As he crossed the lawn, he glanced across the yard to see the lights in the woman's lab were still on. Six hours later, when he exited the Chamber, the lights remained stark against the cool, dark single-hours of the morning.

After his shower, Vegeta burst into her lab to demand a meal. He wasn't sure if lunch was the right term for a four-in-the-morning snack, but as his stomach rumbled and he pushed the door open the order died on his lips. Bulma turned to face him, flashing him a toothy grin as the door slammed back into its frame behind him.

"Hey Vegeta," she greeted, tipping her head before turning back to the drill in her hands and the project laid out on the table before her.

He'd forgotten all about the dull ache of hunger in his gut as the blue-haired woman leaned forward, sporting a slinky top and a pair of shorts. And even though he'd just showered, the sheen of sweat on her breasts and across her brow was not unappealing.

Bulma released a gasp of surprise and nearly dropped the power drill the moment she felt a pair of hands on her hips. As soon as she recovered from her initial shock, she leaned back into the warm chest and felt his hands snake from her hips to her stomach. Her shirt riding upwards with the path of his touch as she tilted her head to the side to allow Vegeta's lips to drop to the spot where her jaw and neck met. She sighed but shut off her drill and turned to face him, grinning as he pulled her closer still.

"All that sleeping and you're eager to get back into my bed so soon?"

"Hn," he grunted against her ear, his breath hitching as her fingers traced the muscles of his thigh, slowly, torturously moving upwards. "I have been making good use of my time since then."

"Oh?" She asked, her fingers inching closer to the bulge in his shorts before retracing their path in reverse, back down his leg despite the twitch in protest. "And what have I been doing? A lot of nothing you suppose?"

Despite the amusement in his dark eyes, his lips pulled to a taught frown.

"I'll have you know," she continued, but momentarily forgot where she'd been going with that train of thought as Vegeta's warm breath was near her neck, his teeth scraping against the smooth skin just below her jaw line. Regaining control of her vocal cords, Bulma continued with a shake of her head, sounding strangely unaffected despite the fact that her knees were quaking and her breath caught. "That this," her eyes darted down to the pile of metal she'd been piecing back together, "is one of your training bots." Her blue eyes narrowed though his head was bent against hers and he couldn't see her, and she faulted, eyes sliding closed as he moved back to her the side of her face and bit down gently on her earlobe.

"Yes," he smirked, pulling away to look at now familiar lusty glint in her blue eyes, "fixing broken shit. The one thing you are useful for."

He saw her lips tighten into a frown before one of her thin brows arched, taunting him. "Hm," smirking smugly, her fingers shifting upwards, teasing the muscles of his inner thigh, "is that so?"

He chuckled and moved his hands beneath her shirt, trying to unclasp the stupid contraption that secured her tits. When he succeeded in removing it and she tugged it off from beneath her tank top, his mouth moved from her lips to her shoulder, wandering lower to press against the top swells of her breasts.

"Vegeta," she moaned, and he felt her arch against him. It was unnatural, unhealthy even, how badly he wanted her. At times he wondered when he'd gone from toying with the idea of having her to making tough decisions like whether to press her against the wall or to bend her over the workbench in her lab.

Either way, it didn't seem to matter. He had a knack for making her squeal.

Bulma's parents returned the following day, and though Vegeta had caught Mrs. Briefs flashing Bulma a cheeky grin the moment she stepped through the doorway, nothing was said and nothing much had changed. Bulma worked and in the evenings, or the mornings, or whenever he was finished with his training, Vegeta would seek her out.

Sometimes they had a drink, and often times Bulma was able to squeeze a bit of conversation out of him. It was never anything serious; Vegeta tended to shut-off when personal matters were breached, but he wasn't as cagey as he'd been in the beginning when they'd flat-out avoided one another. What shocked Bulma most of all was how amused she was by his sinister sense of humor. And over the course of a week, they'd fallen into a routine.

Bulma was never one to think in terms of 'forever', and she was one-hundred-percent sure Vegeta even less so, but there was something about their arrangement that felt comfortable. Until the androids came she was sure it would continue without a glitch. She was hesitant to attach any string to it; sometimes sex between good-looking housemates was just sex. But no matter how she brushed it off, Bulma felt herself dreading the coming of the androids beyond just the possibility of their imminent deaths.

He had less than a year before the androids arrived. Two thirds of the time had gone by, and still he hadn't become a Super Saiyan. Twice he'd felt the power inside him thrashing to be released but not matter how hard he concentrated on controlling it, it never came.

"Fuck," he growled, slamming his fist into one of the woman's recently upgraded bots, watching as the metal dinted and skidded across the floor. Bulma had been nothing but accommodating, and he was secure enough in his callousness to admit that he liked having her around, but he wasn't sure he could stay on Earth. Not when he could feel Kakarot powering up each day, strengthening the gap between them, and not when he could train at 450-g's with no promise of ascension. Things were too cushy here, too frustrating.

He contemplated leaving, going somewhere where he would not be distracted. Somewhere where he could train in peace, but for some goddamn reason he couldn't pull himself away from the compound and the three idiots living inside it. One in particular was beginning to have a rather inconvenient hold on him.

He'd come to he lab, tossed a broken bot on the floor and glared at her before turning on his heel and leaving without a word. Sighing, Bulma rolled her eyes and slid off the stool to inspect the proof of Vegeta's latest tantrum, but after taking two steps she stopped and teetered forward, gripping her desk to steady herself with a curse. She felt as though she'd just ridden a roller coaster after eating a chili cheese dog. She also felt cold, clammy and tired all at once. Feeling the inescapability of bile rising in her throat, she quickly moved to the waste bin and hurled the contents of her breakfast into it. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Bulma blinked, hands resting on either side of the bin. It was like motion sickness. One minute she'd been fine, and the next she moved and had the overwhelming sensation to vomit.

"No," she whispered to herself, suddenly fine. Her head didn't reel and though she still felt cold, she wondered if it had anything to do with her apparent sickness. A sickness which sounded all-too-familiar.

Grabbing her purse, she quickly exited he lab, passing her mother who was blabbering about the intricate workings of her rose garden to Vegeta as he sat trying to concentrate on his meal, and through the front door.

When she returned to the Capsule Corps. Compound purchasing an extra-large bottle of water, empty from the ride home, and three different brands of pregnancy tests, she paced in front of the bathroom door before taking a deep, steadying breath.

"You can do this Bulma," she murmured to herself, nodding confidently and opening the door, gripping the sack in her hand for the support she was busy convincing herself she didn't need.

Vegeta was surprised as he continued towards his room to feel the woman's weak, stagnate ki inside. When he opened the door, he found her sitting at the foot of his bed, the white blankets bunching where she sat, spine-straight, pulling at the tightly tucked sheets.

He smirked and just as he was about to make a lewd comment about the convenience of finding her in his bed, he looked at her. Really looked at her. Her eyes were large, her skin a shade paler than usual. She winced when his brows narrowed in concern. Bulma looked almost timid, but the moment he closed the door behind him she flashed him a confident grin.

"Hey."

At her greeting, he simply stared. Jaw set, all he could do was stare at the wide, fearful eyes of the woman. It was an expression he hadn't seen since Namek and one that was far too disconcerting for some reason still unknown to him.

Bulma hadn't expected him to respond, and so fidgeting nervously she took a deep, calming breath. "We need to talk."

Vegeta felt the beginnings of inward groan. One of the things he liked most about his relationship with Bulma was that it had been so casual. She didn't demand to know where they stood, and she never expected more from him than sex and the occasional conversation. He'd even allowed her to snuggle against him when they lay in her bed, only because there was no use fighting it. 'It' being that he actually quite liked her and didn't mind being in her company. So he'd began to admit that they had something, yes, but he never wanted to have a conversation about the mechanics of what that something was. He was content to acknowledge that it was simply what it was, but at Bulma's pained 'we need to talk' he dreaded she was about to ruin everything.

"I'm," her eyes darted to her lap to her fingers digging into the blankets of his bed, wanting to look anywhere but into Vegeta's dark, judgmental gaze. How had she forgotten how threatening he was? How only a few years ago he'd plagued her nightmares, not her dirtiest fantasies, but this was Vegeta, not the terrifying warrior from Namek. Willing herself to be strong, to tell him the news he deserved to hear from her nearly the second she'd learned it herself, she swallowed audibly. "I'm pregnant."

It was not at all what he'd been expecting her to say, but it shifted the nature of their relationship drastically more than what he'd been anticipating. He blinked, his composure faltering as her words sunk in. "What?"

She ran her hand over her stomach, still flat, and even though she knew the baby growing inside of her looked more like something that'd hang off the edge of a martini glass filled with cocktail sauce, it was her baby. Their baby, regardless of Vegeta's feelings on the matter, and it wasn't surprising to her that Vegeta was angry. She knew he wouldn't be the kind to race forward, to catch her in his arm and spin her around at the news. He wouldn't react to any news that way, really. If it'd been Yamcha's baby he'd been thrilled, but it was Vegeta's and Vegeta remained rooted on the other side of the room, watching her beneath the weight of his steady gaze.

Finally, his lips pulled to a slight frown. "I thought you said you were protected."

"I was," giving into her own frown, Bulma sighed, feeling suddenly tired, all the revelations of the day catching up to her. "But maybe I wasn't the most careful. Or maybe it doesn't protect as well against super fast, crazy strong Saiyan sperm." She almost smiled at the last bit, but when she glanced towards Vegeta she saw that he was not in the least amused.

"Look Vegeta," she sighed, bringing her hands to rest on her lap, "I'm not asking you for anything. Honest. I just thought you should hear it from me. " She bit down on her lower lip as she watched his clouded expression. "We can just see how things go."

What she was asking wasn't unfair. She wasn't pushing him, and she certainly wasn't one to beg him for anything. Blackmail, argue, insult - sure, but Bulma Briefs did not grovel. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he attempted to decipher the thoughts racing through his skull. He didn't know how he felt; he wasn't even really sure how he was supposed to feel. His fingers flexed outwards before compressing back into balled fists at his side and he exhaled, slowly, through his nose.

"I have to go."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I have been thinking about it," he watched her features darken with each word, "and I am going to get off this planet."

A silence settled between them, and Bulma felt the anger boiling inside her numbing her earlier fear. "You promised me." She snapped, and then, gentler; "You promised you wouldn't leave."

She wasn't going to ask him to stay. She was stronger than that, but the words stung. One night over drinks she'd made him promise that he wouldn't leave them to fight the androids alone the moment he figured out fighting Goku was pointless.

"Fine." She said, her eyes narrowing, nose turning upwards and the words bitter in her mouth. "Then go. That's what Saiyans do, right? Fighting first, family second. I've been around Goku long enough, it should come as no surprise that you're even worse."

"Don't," he snapped, his deep voice dropping an octave. She felt a shiver at the slight shift of his strong jaw and the way he spat the words as though she'd actually managed to insult him. "Do not compare me to him."

Frowning, Bulma watched his knuckles whiten as his nails dug into the skin of his palm. She didn't say anything as she tried to rationalize the thought that Vegeta was going. And she would be alone.

After a few moments his shoulders pulled back and he turned away from her.

"Wait," she said, causing Vegeat to pause near the doorway. "If you're just going to run off, then I've changed my mind. I'm going to have a baby, alone, so you don't get off that easy." Her eyes narrowed as she watched the muscles in his back tighten. "I'm going to shout at you for a bit."

He smirked at her words, so much more like the Bulma he knew, not the terrified, uncertain woman from earlier, and with his back still to her, turned his head to watch as she rose from the bed to stand in front of him. She wasn't much shorter than he was, but she looked tiny and frail beside his hulking frame.

With her finger she jabbed at his chest, and his eyes darted down to watch the contact instinctively.

"You're a selfish jackass," she began, pulling her finger away but never tearing her eyes from his. "Fine. Go back into space and don't come back. See if I care. You think you're so -"

"I'm coming back," he snarled, cutting her off mid-tirade. "I just need to get away. There are too many distractions," his eyes lingered on hers for a moment before darting to her flat abdomen, "too many things holding me back. It's too fucking frustrating sensing Kakarot every day and being powerless to do anything about it. I have to ascend or it will never be enough."

She rarely heard him confess things so openly, and with a solemn nod she realized what he meant. "So you'll come back then. You have to. To fight Goku."

He gave a stiff bob of affirmation, and Bulma sighed.

"And then you'll blast this planet to smithereens like you've always planned." Her eyes were even, but he could clearly read the hurt and rage that surfaced as she contemplated the meaning behind her words.

"That," he grunted, the words sounding tired leaving his lips, "Remains uncertain."

It was the most disconcerting way in the cosmos for the father of your future child to confess that he was no longer fanaticizing about your death, but Bulma was beyond caring. She knew Vegeta better than anyone in the entire universe, quite possibly dead or alive; he'd come to terms that he wouldn't be destroying Earth when he was done with it. A part of her wondered if he was giving slight admittance to the idea that he was unsure if he'd ever really be done with Earth at all. She smiled, but wisely kept all positive theories to herself. If he knew she was dreaming up ways to keep him here he'd already be inside the Gravity Chamber, prepping it for flight.

"I'm not naming the baby Vegeta."

He grunted. "I don't care what you name the brat."

"And you'd better be back before this thing is born," she looked stern. "Chichi said giving birth to a half-Saiyan was hell, and she's a hundred-times stronger than me."

"Hn." He crossed his arms over his chest, knowing that the power level of even a half-Saiyan infant would be more than she could bear. She'd go about complaining, more so than usual, and he was not sorry he'd be missing out. "Bulma, I will come back when I am ready. It will have nothing to do with whether or not you've given birth to the child or not."

She'd always liked that Vegeta never held back, that he never pretended to be anything other than what he was; he wasn't one to sugarcoat things or lie for anyone else's benefit. She just wished it didn't sting so much when those traits were directed at her.

"Well, be safe." The words sounded dumb after she'd said them, lingering in the air of his bedroom. She felt his eyes on her face, and she continued to glare at the spot on the wall behind him. Space seemed cold and frightening. She'd only been once, and it was far more dangerous than she'd expected. Where would he go, she wondered, and though she knew he was incredibly strong, she felt a tightening in her chest as she contemplated his wellbeing.

"Feh, I will be anything but." His arms tightened across his chest. "I will be going out of my way to push my body to new extremes. I will not rest until I am a Super Saiyan."

She rolled her eyes. It seemed his tougher-than-thou routine had long since fallen short on her. She'd heard it before, and she knew how perilous his training regiment was.

"You can have my father refuel the ship for you," she said, finally, after the silence in the room became too much for her to stomach. "I'm not going to help you run away."

He turned from her once again, taking two long strides towards the doorway before pausing. Not looking back, he said, "I'm not running away."

When she turned around, he was gone.

She knew the next time she'd see him he'd be an entirely different person. He'd either have ascended, and with it his ego would skyrocket, the haughty smirk would likely be a permanent fixture, or he'd return defeated. Never in her life had Bulma met someone who was so hard on himself, and while he was gone she'd do nothing but keep her faith in him.

The other option, the scenario where he didn't return at all, was unthinkable.

"Well boy," the old doctor said, patting the control panel as he stood up. "You're all set."

Vegeta opened his eyes and glanced at the controls. His arms remained crossed against his chest and he leaned against the ship's hatch, his fingers itching for departure. He'd already been lectured about the food stocks, and now that he had fuel there was no reason to linger on this planet.

Dr. Briefs nodded before leaving the ship, lighting his cigarette the moment his feet were back on the green grass of the lawn and quickly moving out of range of the ship. With a shake of his head, he watched as the Saiyan closed the hatch and moved to sit behind the controls.

Vegeta wasn't running. He checked the dial one last time before cranking the engine to life. He wasn't trying to escape. He simply needed some uninterrupted training. Some space so he could concentrate on becoming a Super Saiyan. Rest hadn't helped, relentless training in intense gravity hadn't done it, and the news that he was going to be a father hadn't suddenly set an affable spark in him, altering him somehow.

Defeating Kakarot came first. Ascension was more important than the foolish woman and her blasted child. It would be easier, he convinced himself, when they weren't around to distract him all the time.

As the ship broke planetary altitude and Kakarot's ki and Bulma's energy faded in the distance, he watched the dark, familiar view of space staring back at him through the thick glass. He felt truly alone for the first time since he'd been wished back to Earth with the Dragon Balls.


	12. Chapter 12

Vegeta had left, and there was an empty spot on the Capsule Corps. lawn where the Gravity Chamber once sat and an empty place in Bulma's bed. She felt dramatic just thinking it, but Bulma also felt there was a bit of emptiness in her life without him there. She hadn't drank since he'd left, mainly because she was pregnant, but she couldn't help that her raging hormones switched to 'gloomy' whenever she'd pass by the liquor cabinet. She missed his company and their conversations over drinks, the way he'd smirk over the rim of his glass to either blatantly insult her or compliment her clandestinely.

She busied herself working in the lab, though with her growing belly it became nearly impossible to move about as freely as she was used to. The pregnancy had been at the forefront of her mind, and not so much what would come next.

Bulma didn't think about it much, but from time to time she'd catch herself watching some mindless sitcom over a bowl of ice cream wondering if she could actually do this. It was terrifying, the thought of being a mom, but loads of people that were younger, less intelligent, and had less money than her raised babies all the time. And they seemed to do a well-enough job at it. Besides, it wasn't like she was alone. Her family was nothing but supportive. In fact, they were frighteningly _ecstatic_ about being grandparents. She smiled at the memory of when she'd told them, gathering them into the living room the afternoon after Vegeta left. Their overjoyed reactions weren't in the least bit feigned. Her father had shoved all his projects to the side to work on toys and cribs for the new addition to the family, and Mrs. Briefs had done nothing but fret over turning one of the spare rooms into a nursery. She'd had the walls painted blue and busied herself decorating the moment they'd found out it was a boy. When the decorating was done, she delighted herself in stuffing his closet with baby clothes.

Bulma wasn't sure if it was out of respect for her or if it were just their oblivious natures, but neither had mentioned anything about Vegeta's whereabouts. They didn't ask what he thought or if he'd be back, or even if he knew for that matter. Instead, her mother occasionally commented about only Vegeta's wellbeing, while Dr. Briefs kept an eye on his fuel levels only mentioning the status of it from time to time in passing.

Exiting her lab, Bulma made her way to the kitchen where her mother was prepping lunch. Yawning, Bulma stretched her arms above her and greeted the grinning blond with a small tip of her head.

"Afternoon to you too, Bulma," Mrs. Briefs said, smile widening as the younger woman took a seat at the table. Though she missed having Vegeta's appetite around, she was thrilled her daughter was now eating for two. One of which was half Saiyan.

"How are you doing today, dear?"

Sighing, the blue-haired woman leaned back in her chair, her hands running over her swollen abdomen. "Okay." She felt the powerful kick of her son, and grimaced. "Boy am I ready for Trunks to be born already."

Her mother giggled as she set the table. "Trust me, having a baby around isn't any easier than being pregnant." Spooning a pile of vegetables on Bulma's plate, she continued, "and if you think you're behind on your sleep now…"

"Yeah," Bulma shrugged, eyes on the lo mein on the other side of the table, "but I'm ready to stop being so hungry all the time." She tried to look away from the food. "And I'm ready to have my girlish figure back."

"Oh Bulma dear," her mother gushed, sliding the lo mein she noticed her daughter had been eyeing across the table, "You look wonderful!"

Opening her mouth to respond, she was cut off as Mrs. Briefs clasped her hands together at her chest and grinned. "A grandson! I can't wait!"

Rolling her eyes, Bulma finished her meal before heading back to her lab to get some work done.

* * *

Space was dark. And cold. He'd forgotten how cold it was. Despite the warmth the ship's heating unit provided, there seemed to be the slightest descent in the temperature the further outward he went. It wasn't just the idea of being out, alone, in the thick void of space. No, being isolated amongst the stars was something the Saiyan Prince was used to. It was as though the chill out here was physical.

He crossed his arms over his chest, unaffected by the thought of cold. His body could take a little discomfort, and his past had equipped him with more than enough experience to handle everything on the spectra of extreme temperature. When he'd been a boy, a new member of Frieza's services still under the belief that his planet had been destroyed by a meteor shower, he'd purged a planet where six scorching suns constantly beat down on the sweltering world. The weak Earthlings had laughable climate, even in their frozen poles and arid deserts, compared to what he'd experienced.

"Hn," Vegeta grunted to himself, turning up the dial of the thermostat and willing himself not to think of the blasted planet he'd left behind. Not that he wouldn't mind a relaxing jot beneath the warm, steady stream of a shower.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the planets coming to shape in the distance. They were small rocks, but as he honed in on them individually he discovered that they were each uninhabited. He tried to convince himself that if they had been occupied it was not as though he couldn't simply destroy their meager populations so he could finally train in peace. He hated the nagging part of him that said he'd gone soft. Never before had he _questioned_ himself, never had he had to assure himself that he was still wicked enough to carry through with anything.

One of the planets was situated outside the main group; it was smaller than the rest, but its atmosphere was thick and dark, as if it were coated with a raging storm. It seemed to echo his mood for the last thirty years, and so he locked in on it and prepared the ship for landing.

When Vegeta stepped from the Chamber, his white boots still unscathed from combat thanks to the woman's latest replications, clouds of gray ash billowed around his feet. Glancing into the sky, he smirked at the raging storm. It was light, but held the promise of never letting up. The gravity here was laughable, probably only ten-times that of Earth's. And then he remembered that it was close to what Vegetasei's had been. Training on Kakarot's wretched planet had caused him to laugh off what he had once boasted as being the mark of a warrior planet. It shouldn't have been displeasing, of course. If he looked past his pride, a rather difficult feat, true, he knew there was a bit of respect for how far he'd come since landing on Earth. But for now, he made the conscious decision not to.

* * *

Tinkering in lab kept her mind busy. Even though she always thought of herself as a remarkable multitasker, there was something calming about having a soldering iron in her hand and a project in need of completion at her fingertips. Everything faded into the distance as she worked, and even time slipped away. Normally, nothing would have been able to tear her from what she'd been working on, unless of course the Saiyan Prince came barging into her lab demanding she fix something he'd broken until she acknowledged his presence. However, her grip on the iron loosened and her iron-grip on her work sank. This demanded her attention far more than Vegeta's pestering.

"Fuck."

"What was that, dear?" Her father asked, glancing up from his blueprint on the other side of the lab.

"Uh," Bulma wrinkled her nose at the mess on the floor, and pulled at the hem of her dress. "I think my water just broke."

Without a word, her father jumped to his feet and fled the lab, calling his wife's name. They'd already had a hospital-route planned out now that their daughter was swelling with their future grandson.

Bulma watched her father flee, rolling her eyes as she started making her way outside where Dr. Briefs was stuffing a car seat in the back of one of the family's larger hovercars while her mother was tottering across the driveway on her heels, balancing a platter of petit fours in her hands as she beamed at her daughter.

"I'm going to take these to the hospital Bulma dear," she said, beaming as she closed the distance between herself and her husband, sampling one of the cakes as she waited.

Hands resting on her stomach, Bulma cast one last glance to the empty spot on the lawn, knowing she was foolish to believe that Vegeta would just appear in the nick of time.

"Come on sweetheart," her mother called, now inside the vehicle, situating the tray of sweets on her lap, "we're going to be late."

Bulma did not want to guess at what she believed their being late for, but nodded and entered the car just the same.

* * *

Lightening flashed through the windows as Vegeta placed one hand behind his back, continuing his pushup routine.

"Seven hundred sixty-seven," he grunted through clinched teeth, his mouth tasting metallic as sweat dripped from his brow, stinging as it fell into his eyes.

He wasn't sure how long it had taken him to arrive at this planet. It was the third he'd trained on since he'd left Earth, but time escaped him. Briefly, he wondered if Bulma had given birth to her child. Their child. His jaw clinched.

"Seven hundred eighty-four." He pressed on, the gravity set at 400 times that of Earth's. Earth, where Kakarot was training with his son and the Namekian with no such advantage, and where Bulma was doing kami-knows-what. It didn't matter, none of it did. He would be back to face Bulma and their child when he was ready, and he would return to fight Kakarot when he'd finally manage the strength to defeat him.

* * *

Being a benefactor of the hospital had its perks, and as Bulma glanced around the spacious room from her place on its single bed, she couldn't help but sigh in relief. Her mother was positioning flowers on the bedside table, singing to herself about finally having a grandchild. Her father was conveniently absent, not that she blamed the man for his bolting on a pair of women in near-hysterics.

She hadn't called her friends, mainly because she hadn't told any of them, and they were all busily preparing for the androids anyway. She felt a bit hypocritical as she lay there; she'd been rather hurt that Goku had not bothered to tell her about Gohan. Though the news that Goku had a child wouldn't be nearly as shocking to her friends as the news that Vegeta was.

What she felt most terrible about was that she hadn't even called Yamcha. He hadn't tried contacting her since the last time he'd stopped by CC, and as much as she missed her friend she knew the news of her being a mother would most likely only hurt him. She'd long since forgiven his spell of unfaithfulness, and she only hoped he would be able to look at her again, despite that she'd fallen for the man who'd had him killed.

"What are you thinking about, honey?" Her mother asked, done fidgeting with the purple flowers and was now arranging the petite fours.

"Nothing," Bulma lied, though 'nothing' as a response to that particular question always seemed to be. "Just ready to get this over with."

"Okay then," Mrs. Briefs nodded, shuffling the cakes around one last time before smiling at her lounging daughter, blue hospital gown popping against the sea of white blankets and pillows. "I'll go get you some ice chips."

"Uh," Bulma blinked, watching as her mother scurried out the door without waiting for an answer. "Alright."

* * *

The storm was picking up. Vegeta glanced outside one of the small, round windows to watch as the violent squall erupted in a wave of electrics. Silver veins cracked the nimble skies, and rain beat down against the chamber's metal exterior in a pedaling fury. It seemed more exciting, livelier, out there. And so he powered up the gravity to 450 times that of Earth's and pressed on.

Still, he couldn't help but glance outside, to where the storm raged.

It was brilliant and terrifying all at once. It was angry it seemed, and aggressive. Smirking, Vegeta blocked a blast, skidding to his left to hurl it back towards one of the bots. He had to contain himself; the woman wasn't around incase he blew a hole in the ship or hammered the bots until they required repair. If the vessel was destroyed, he was done. He'd have no way off this planet, and no ride home.

Not that he thought of Earth as his _home_. He'd just be stuck here, and he'd much rather be on Earth than he would here.

"Dammit," he growled, controlling one of his more exasperated blasts before he found himself stuck forever on the isolated planet amidst the turbulent gale. Never to face Kakarot again.

After settling the blast back into his palms, the blue energy fizzling out until it died, Vegeta fell to the ground panting. He glanced outside the window again, watching with a steady gaze as the lightening reverberated against the backdrop of boulders in the distance. It raged on - angry, violent, power-hungry. It was as though it were an outward manifestation of the storm that was raging inside of himself. He took a series of pained, shallow breaths in 450-g's, forcing himself to his feet to continue. He hadn't come out here to be beaten, but to succeed. Victory was the only option, and he'd made it far too long with his pride remained intact to give up now.

* * *

Her mom had left leaving Bulma alone with her thoughts, and though she was still not experiencing what the nurse had assured would be obvious contractions, she couldn't help but mentally prepare herself for birth. And motherhood. She wasn't quite sure which was more frightening at this moment.

If only Vegeta cared half as much about her as he did becoming a Super Saiyan, then perhaps he'd have been there. But he would be, eventually. She would have to survive giving birth to their freakishly powerful son in order to yell at him for _not_ being present for the birth when he did return.

"Oh Kami," she muttered, her face scrunching in pain.

"Bulma," her mother gasped from the doorway, clutching the styrofoam cup of ice chips in her hand as she neared her daughter's bedside. "Are you in labor? Do you want me to call the nurse?"

"Oh Kami," she repeated again, her eyes sliding closed. "What if he has Vegeta's hair?"

Smiling, her mother placed her hand on Bulma's cheek. "I'm sure he'll be a very handsome young man."

"I…" Bulma blinked, lulling her head back on the pillow. She knew she could do this on her own, but it didn't mean she wanted to. "I'm going to kill him when he gets back. Super Saiyan or not, I'm going to strangle that bastard."

* * *

He'd been so concentrated on training in 450 times gravity that he didn't hear the crashing outside when it began. When it became too much to ignore, he slowed his pace and listened to the noisy thuds in the distance. It was much heavier than rainfall.

The dull, heavy pangs grew steady, and when he glanced outside the small round window of the ship to find the source of the sound, he cursed. Now paired with the electrical storm was a meteor shower. The rocks fell in constant strides, littering the ground of the barren planet. Some of the larger ones left craters, and with a curse Vegeta shut off the gravity and raced outside.

Meteors continued to fall, and taking to the air Vegeta extended his palms, shielding the Gravity Chamber, his means of ascension and escape, from their attacks. He swiftly dodged the assault of falling rock, and channeled his energy to furiously blast the meteors that threatened his ship.

Training at high gravity had left him exhausted, but his fury to beat Kakarot kept him alive. It seemed to be the only thing driving his dedication; he had to defeat the weakling, he couldn't die here without having another chance to prove himself.

It was his rage that kept him alert, and alive. His fists pedaled rapidly, pebbles of the remains of meteors scattering the planet as he blasted them.

He had to protect his ship; despite the exhaustion he felt, it was the only way he'd survive. And he had to survive. He'd done nothing but live under another's rule, the very being that had crushed his destiny from beneath his boots. And then he'd watched his race dwindle to a handful until the only ones left were merely Saiyan by blood it seemed. The only thing he'd kept through it all was his strength. He was the Saiyan Prince, and yet it had been the fool who'd surpassed him. It was _his_ destiny, _his_ honor, and Kakarot had stolen it all.

Panting, Vegeta continued to fire rapidly at the chunks of falling rock. It wasn't until he watched as one, nearly as large as the planet itself, come into view that he felt helpless.

He had to protect the fucking ship.

Growling, he lowered his hands to his right side and gathered his energy. "No," he seethed through his teeth, conjuring up everything it he had left in him.

The blinding light of his own blast fired around him, and his eyes closed against the impairing glow.

Though he couldn't see the collision, he felt it. The power of it shook his bones and sent him crashing, backwards, into the solid ground of the planet. As his back collided painfully into the dirt, he thought of Bulma. Of her haughty smile. Of the child he'd never see. Of Vegetasei and all that was lost. Of Kakarot, and how the idiot would live on to defeat the androids without requiring any assistance from him.

"Kakarot," he breathed through clinched teeth, the dust settling around his beaten frame as he freed himself of the rubble. His gloves were tattered and stained red with his own blood, and he gripped the soil with them as he pulled himself up.

"No…" He seethed. "No more." He coughed, brining himself to his knees. "That's it. I don't care." And he _didn't_ care anymore. He didn't care about beating Kakarot. He didn't care if he were a Super Saiayn, or even if he lived or not. He didn't care about anything. He was going to die, weak and alone, and everything he'd been so passionate about fell to the wayside.

And then it happened. The familiar burn in his veins seared his body like never before, and tossing his head back he screamed in fury. Finally he'd snapped, and he couldn't control the pain or the anger or even the feeling of release. And so he let it all out.

His hands bunched into tight fists at his sides, and his kneed buckled, shifting his shoulders forward slightly as he continued to shout. Vegeta's hands flexed open, and then swung upwards to knit into his hair, digging painfully into his scalp.

"No," he growled, seizing control over the pain, over the power raging inside of him. It had always been there, he'd always known it, and after giving up he'd finally understood the key to unlocking it.

* * *

It was dark in the hospital room, but peaceful. Bulma sighed as she flipped on the table lamp, glancing over at the small plastic hospital crib placed adjacent to her own cot. Her beautiful baby boy's face was turned away from her, but she could see by the steady rise and fall of his tiny chest that he was sleeping. She hadn't known it was possible to love something so much, especially someone she'd just met. But she did. She'd never felt so strongly about anything, and the little boy with the tuft of lavender hair tugged at her heartstrings.

"Trunks," she whispered, so as not to wake him. He was sleeping, but he'd be up soon enough. Newborns had a constant cycle of napping and waking up each hour, but she would try her hardest not to be the one to wake him in a fit of panic.

Closing her eyes, trying to get her mind to succumb to the rest her body begged for, she was just slipping int sleep when she was jolted awake by the sounds of crying.

Sighing, Bulma swung her legs around and retrieved the boy, and despite her fatigue she couldn't help but beam as Trunks' howling halted the moment he was in her arms. Opening his eyes, he stared up at her and Bulma felt her heart clinch for what felt like the millionth time that day.

His eyes were blue, like hers, but they were tapered and slated with narrowed brows, like his father's.

The baby gurgled in her arms, and impatiently tugged on one of her long, stray curls. Bulma couldn't help but frown. She'd definitely have to cut it if he were going to continue to pull on it with inhumane strength.

"Are you hungry little guy?" She asked as she grabbed for his bottle. "Just like your daddy, so impatient." Trunk's eyes were focused on the bottle, the source of his next meal, and Bulma smiled as he ate. Trunks spit up a bit, and glanced impatiently at the spill before his eyes focused back on hers. Bulma couldn't help but laugh as she wiped up the mess. "Yes, yes. It won't be too long until you're demanding I 'fetch you a drying cloth at once'."

Trunk's eyes slid closed as she spoke, and snuggled into her chest while his mother watched him, smiling fondly. She swept her hand over his tuft of hair as he fell back asleep.

It had been a rather difficult day for Bulma, to put it lightly, and she sighed as she felt her mind finally winding down, allowing her to slip into the sleep her body begged for while her son slept peacefully in her arms.

* * *

His chuckled echoed against the boulders that remained intact in the distance. His fists compressed at his side as he surveyed his surroundings. The meteors stopped falling, but the lightning raged on.

With each step, he felt a power in him like he'd never experienced before. His frame was encompassed in a pulsating golden aura, and as he continued to pace forwards towards his ship, sill intact thanks to his efforts, the ground beneath his feet depressed with the sheer force of his new power.

Vegeta closed in on the Capsule 03, and he glanced into one of the thick windows. Smirking madly, he studied the reflection staring back at him. His eyes were teal, his hair a vibrant shade of yellow, and the energy surrounding his body was effervescent, clear and visible.

"I have done it," he smirked, still watching his reflection. " _I_ am the legendary Super Saiyan!" His throaty chuckle reverberated against the fallen rocks surrounding him and his intact ship. "The Prince of all Saiyans! And finally I have the power to crush Kakarot beneath my boots!"

Vegeta tossed his head back and laughed, getting a feel of the newly attained power. He allowed it to flow back inside of him, to the place he'd once been unable to tap, but now assumed control over. The power had been at his fingertips all along, and _finally_ after so much hard work, of pushing himself to near-death and training recklessly, he'd fulfilled his destiny.

The swarming, golden energy around him faded, and with it his hair returned to its natural dark state, still spiking upwards but now dark as his eyes, no longer teal, were still narrowed. Lips pressed into an arrogant smirk, Vegeta entered the ship and programmed the coordinates back to Earth.

Settling into the pilot's chair, he took one last look at the violent, uncontrollable storm. His insides still pounded with unrestraint, and no matter if he did succeed in beating Kakarot in a fight, he'd probably never feel at peace. Sometimes your past changed you and not even your future could calm the storm. But sometimes it could. Sometimes getting everything you ever wanted was enough.


	13. Chapter 13

She loved her son more than anything, but it didn't stop her lips from folding to a frown as she placed him back inside his crib. His eyes were closed, his small chest rising and falling with each steady breath he took when only minutes before he'd been wailing. Loudly. So loudly in fact that Bulma had been jolted out of bed, and had barely managed with a tired yawn and a stretch to force herself to pad across the hallway for a bottle before returning to his room where the unhappy two-month old had stopped howling and was glaring at her from his place inside the crib. She would have smiled affectionately at the adorable, angry look on his features if she hadn't been so irritated herself.

After he'd downed the contents of his bottle, Trunks had leaned back and fallen instantly back to sleep in his mother's arms. Bulma ran her free hand over the tuff of lavender hair as she watched him snooze inside his crib. If only she could plop down in her bed and be out like a light, she thought, the bitter frown evaporating with a tired sigh. It was three a.m., and though she was tired she knew it would take a miracle for her to fall back asleep any time soon. Rubbing her eyes, Bulma took the empty bottle back to the kitchen to rinse it out, and after placing the clean bottle on the drying rack, poured a glass of milk for herself.

She knew she only had a few more hours before her son would be up and ready for a full day of mischief. Trunks was incredibly alert for someone so small, and had more energy and resolve than any baby she'd been around. Bulma liked to chalk it up to the fact that his mother was a bonafide genius, but she knew it was more than likely a Saiyan thing. The boy hadn't even met the prickly asshat yet, and he could already cross his arms and press his lips into the very scowl and narrow-eyed glare his father had so well practiced.

She switched her thoughts away from the absent man as she squeezed the bottle of chocolate syrup, watching the generous stream jet into her milk. Absentmindedly, she twirled her spoon around the glass, and just as she was licking the thick glob of chocolate still stuck to the cool metal she turned on her heel and choked on the syrup.

Catching herself before she dropped the glass entirely, Bulma carefully placed her milk on the countertop and twisted her confusion into a calm expression. She knew she was more than likely failing miserably at any attempt to feign nonchalance upon seeing the bloody man in tattered spandex standing in her kitchen.

Her blue eyes darted outside to see that the Capsule 03 had been safely returned to its spot on the lawn; the grass beneath it had just begun to heal itself. Quickly, she returned her attention to the man who was still in fact alive and, for the most part it seemed, intact. The ship's presence was proof that she wasn't imagining the whole thing, and never once in her dreams had Vegeta returned so scathed. But it was difficult to tell, even in her fantasies he hadn't managed to smile upon his return.

"So you're not dead."

Well, he hadn't expected much fanfare. Vegeta was worn, the events of the last ten or so months weighing on him, not that he had the slightest notion regarding the duration of his absence. He allowed his left shoulder to press into the weight of the doorframe and managed a breathy, "Hn."

"Good." Her lips quirked into an easy smile. "Saves me the pleasure of doing it myself."

"Oh?" One of his dark brows quirked, "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I doubt you thought I'd even be up."

His eyes roamed over her features as a silence settled between them. He'd only thought of her occasionally since he'd left, but it wasn't necessary to refamiliarize himself with them as, apart from less volume in her hair, she largely looked the same. "But you are."

"Yes." She frowned, stating the obvious as she stared at him, the dark circles beneath his eyes lighter than his eyes themselves. He looked as tired as he had the night he'd left, but different somehow. It was then that she noticed the way his shoulders were pushed back, his spine a bit straighter; there was a cocky turn of his lips, as though he were ready to boast his latest accomplishment whenever the occasion presented itself. "You did it." She smiled. "I can tell."

The smirk formed at her words, his chest rising at the swell of pride upon hearing them aloud. She was the first to know of his ascension, as he'd ignored any and all contact on his excursion, and it was rather satisfying having another recognize it. To spell it out so openly. He'd worked hard, no, _hard_ was an understatement of his plight, and he itched to see the look in Kakarot's eyes when he transformed before him. It would be vastly different than the shining satisfaction in Bulma's stare to be sure. She looked proud of him, and not in the least bit alarmed that he now held the power to plow her best friend and planet's protector into the ground.

He still wanted to kill Kakarot, but it was not the burning desire it had once been. Not after he'd honestly given up giving a shit about it, and then survived. It was still there though. He knew he would still try as he'd gazed at his reflection, physically altered and encompassed with a crackling, golden aura in the ship's window. He'd grinned like a madman with the knowledge of what he _could_ do now that he was a Super Saiyan, but a bit of the white-hot passion had fizzled out. Sure, more of his pride would be restored once Kakarot lay beaten beneath his boot, but he was old and tired and far too muddled to think much beyond that.

And the damn woman could smile, her eyes lighting up and all her white teeth showing, because her life was safe. Somehow during the course of nearly three years living under the same roof she'd come to situate herself comfortably on his side. A side, she seemed to ignore, that it put her rooting for Kakarot's death. Or, at the very least, his humiliation at Vegeat's hands.

Bulma grabbed her milk, crossing one of her arms below her chest and resting it in the crook of her elbow as she watched him. "So it's safe to assume you're more of a portentous bastard than before?"

He'd only been on Earth ten minutes, and he was not in the mood to be annoyed. Wrongly it seemed he thought he'd get a bit of sleep before she started talking to him. "Bulma, can you just shut up and let me rest?"

"No," her brow narrowed, frowning at him from over the cool glass. "You abandoned me, even if it wasn't intentional. I deserve a little conversation out of you before you crash and, let me guess, disappear inside the Gravity Chamber at sunrise."

"It requires upgrades." Weight still resting against the doorframe, he crossed his arms. "It is far too inferior for my strength now."

"Oh for the love of… would you can it, tough guy? I'm not waking up to repair the Chamber, not after the hell you've put me through. You're a Super Saiyan now, yeah?" Her glare narrowed as she scowled at the jaded prince. "Lay off the training regimen for a while."

"How long until the androids arrive?" His frown deepened. "I assume they haven't yet, as this planet is still intact."

She looked momentarily taken aback by his unawareness; he was usually methodically aware of things, but then she remembered he'd spent ten months in the blackness of space. He probably didn't know night from day, all time irrelevant as he struggled to fulfill his father's legacy.

"You're two months early," she replied, trying not to sound too hostile. He'd clearly taken his time, waiting until the last drops of fuel had run out before returning, and his priorities pissed her off. But he was here now, and she didn't want him running.

"Good," he answered, a smirk sliding subconsciously across his features, ignoring her ire. "I look forward to squashing those metal weaklings with my bare hands for taking my life before I got to Kakarot's in the other timeline."

Bulma sighed. She was less used to this side of Vegeta as he'd spent most of his time at Capsule Corps. being standoffish, but he was a prince through and through and as such there was often a lavish, pompous air when he spoke. She could imagine him on the battlefield, toying verbally with his opponents when he had the clear upper hand and making stately speeches when he was desperate, just as he went on now about crushing things with his fists. Again, she balked it back to his priorities. He'd never admit how he felt about her, but he could talk for hours about the desire burning in his piss to rip Goku into pieces.

And because she didn't want to hear any more about it, she changed the subject. "Would you like some chocolate milk?"

And because his stomach rumbled at the word 'chocolate', he gave a grunt of affirmation and sat down at the table.

Bulma mixed a second glass, and topped off her own, before joining him. Sliding his glass across towards him, she wasn't sure where to begin. She had a million things to ask him, and a billion things to tell him. And yet as they sat in silence, she was content.

"So," she said, her glass empty and her eyes on Vegeta. He was looking outside, his eyes distant and deep in thought. "How did it happen?"

He turned to face her, as if just remembering she was there, and blinked.

"Super Saiyan," she clarified, the words sounding strange upon leaving her lips. She knew it would happen, eventually, but it still felt extraordinary that Vegeta had done it after so much frustration on his part. "How?"

"I stopped caring," he answered, one shoulder lifting in a noncommittal shrug. "I thought I was dead and I gave up giving a damn about anything."

She couldn't help but smile. He looked unfazed by the declaration, but she knew it probably tore him up that he'd struggled so much to achieve it only when he didn't care about it anymore. "Well, congratulations."

"Hn."

"I'm serious Vegeta." Her fingers ran down the side of her glass. "I'm happy for you."

He nodded, his eyes focused on his hands resting on the table. He didn't know what to feel. He didn't need her support, but he held the insult burning on the tip of his tongue.

"Well," Bulma continued through a yawn, getting to her feet and depositing the empty glass in the sink. "I'm going to bed. Your son will be demanding to get out of his crib in four hours, and then apparently I'm making some improvements to the Gravity Chamber."

His eyes snapped to hers. "Son?"

"Yep." She grinned. "He's sleeping now." Taking a step towards the door she paused, and turned her head to gaze at Vegeta's impassive features. "Would you like to meet him?"

* * *

"This is Trunks." Bulma smiled as she motioned to the crib and watched as Vegeta stepped towards it, peering down at the sleeping boy inside. "And Trunks, this is your lunkhead of a father."

He ignored her chatter as he studied his son, feeling his power level with a smirk. Trunks was impressive, even by Saiyan standards, but Vegeta knew after watching Gohan that there was something to half-human Saiyans. He hadn't been adverse to half-breeds, exactly. There weren't any other options, after all. Vegeta just hadn't ever planned on having one himself.

It was strange, the thought that the baby was his. He blinked and leaned back a bit.

"His hair is ridiculous."

"Oh," Bulma rolled her eyes, "like you're one to talk."

For a while, he didn't say anything. Bulma bit her lip as she watched Vegeta's back stiffen, his brow furrow. She hovered awkwardly by the door, watching as Vegeta frowned down at the sleeping baby in the crib. She wasn't sure what to say, and she hadn't the slightest clue what Vegeta was thinking. It wasn't that she feared he'd blast their son, exactly, but he did not look particularly happy. He simply looked uncomfortable. But he was there, and for now she knew that would be enough.

Pulling away from the crib, Vegeta nodded slightly at Bulma before brushing past her and out to the hallway. Bulma cast one last glance at the sleeping boy before sliding the nursery door shut and following Vegeta into the hall. When she turned, she watched as Vegeta disappeared into his bathroom, and she sighed, deciding to get some sleep of her own. In the morning, she'd have a pair of Saiyans shouting demands in her direction and she was going to need a good night's rest if she were to hold her own against either.

* * *

It was difficult keeping track of another person. Caring for Trunks made it almost impossible to keep tabs on Vegeta. For the most part, Bulma had lost track of him. He'd be gone for days, and then show up randomly at the kitchen table when dinner was ready or to nudge her awake as she lay in her bed. Or their bed. In the month since Vegeta's return, he'd stopped sleeping in his old room in favor of hers. Bulma smiled at the thought that they'd become somewhat dependent, but her smile faded with a shake of her head when she remembered her previous train of thought. He'd go for days without so much as a word.

Take now, for instance. He'd gone off training Kami-knows-where a week ago, and then yesterday afternoon she'd glanced outside to see the Gravity Chamber humming to life on her yard. He hadn't even bothered a brief 'hello' before returning to his training.

"Well, that's your daddy for you, Trunks," she mumbled as she placed the boy in the bouncy chair set up in the Briefs' family room. Laughing, the lavender haired infant clapped his hands together, and Bulma beamed at her son before rubbing his head and settling on the couch to skim through some of her recorded programs.

She'd busied herself with being a mom, and when one of her parents could watch Trunks she spent most of her spare time inside her lab, not working on things for Vegeta. Since his transformation he'd been surprisingly careful with his equipment. There were no broken bots piled on the floor of her lab, and the Chamber itself hadn't needed any repairs since his return. It was nice to think that his pushing himself seemed to be the reason for his past recklessness. When he was a Super Saiyan he spent more time honing his skills than wrecking his surroundings.

Just as Trunks had lulled to sleep and Bulma had decided on an episode to watch, the backdoor swung open and Vegeta rustled around the fridge. A few minutes later, he appeared in the doorway of the living room, his dark eyes flashing from the sleeping child to the woman seated on the couch. Her feet were tucked beneath her and she was dressed in a pair of sweats and a tank top, and she grinned as he approached.

"Hello Vegeta," she said, turning her attention back to the television. "What's up?"

Instead of answering, he cast one last glance at the sleeping boy before disappearing upstairs to shower. He spent a long time standing beneath the spray of warm water, trying to keep his thoughts focused. One month was all he had to prepare for the androids. He'd left because he was too distracted, and just because he was a Super Saiyan now didn't change a thing. He'd deal with the woman and her child after he'd dealt with the androids and Kakarot. His priorities hadn't shifted just because the boy was strong and he still looked forward to having the woman in his bed. _Their_ bed, as she liked to call it.

Besides, Bulma had done a find job without him. She was strong, not physically, no, but he'd always seen the fierce independence and strong will in her. After their talks over drinks and laying with her in bed when he should have been doing useful things like training or sleeping, he'd learnt that she had been Kakarot's first friend. She'd created the Dragon Radar on her own, and had gone out searching for the Dragon Balls alone when she'd been a teenager. She'd survived much, all paling in comparison to what he'd been through, but she was experienced, different from the other humans on this planet.

After he dried himself off, he went back downstairs to where Bulma was engrossed in one of her silly shows and their child was still sleeping peacefully.

When he approached, she turned towards him and smiled. "Want a drink?"

He nodded slightly and joined her on the couch, scowling at the show playing on the screen. After a few moments she returned and offered him one of the drinks in her hands before settling beside him on the couch. The liquid was warm as it slid down his throat, not strong enough to intoxicate him, but comforting enough to ward off any nightmares. He wasn't sure if it was the liquor or the woman's presence, but he hadn't suffered through a single bad dream since he'd returned to Earth.

Vegeta studied her from the corner of his eye. Flickers of the program reflected in her eyes, and the muted colors played off her features in the dark. "You find the most bizarre ways to waste your time."

"It's about vampires," she said, her eyes still fixated on the screen. "You know, blood-sucking nightwalkers who—"

"I know what vampires are," he looked irritated, but not impressed. "You enjoy watching these monsters hunt human prey?"

"No way," she grinned, tearing her eyes away to look at Vegeta. "It's a romance. See, they're all bad and stuff, yeah, but they're sexy." She waved at one of the vampires on the screen, as though to further her point. "And their weakness is sweet, pretty human girls."

His frown deepened. "They want to kill them."

"At first, usually," her eyes were back on the screen, but the smile remained on her features. "But after they get to know them they want to have sex with them. Then, after the sex they start to care and fall in love. Romantic, see?"

Vegeta's dark eyes darted from the screen back to the woman's face, pinched in concentration but alight with amusement. "Hn."

"It's easy to forgive the bad guys when they're sexy," she winked, "and especially after they get protective and start fighting on the pretty girl's side."

"I may be fighting on 'your side', but I won't protect you," he grunted, taking another swig of his drink. "I am not from a shitty show you enjoy."

"I," she paused, turning from the television to blink into Vegeta's level gaze. "I know. You're the real thing."

He looked smug, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Vegeta," she began, the show completely forgotten as she glanced up at his distant expression. The glass rested inches from his lips, pressed together in thought. "You shouldn't have had to go through what you have. You should be a king on your planet, not stuck here. It isn't fair." It wasn't, but Bulma knew there was no way to go back and restore his childhood, to give him back his family or his race. He was a merciless killer because he'd been brought up to be one, and she knew nothing could change his past. She had been hoping, however, he was warming up to changing his future.

"No," he frowned, "it's not. But I don't want to talk about it."

"I know, but I was thinking and—"

Trunks' crying in the swing cut her off. Sighing, Bulma turned off the TV and got up from the couch. "Shh," she cooed, taking the baby into her arms and watching as Vegeta rose from the sofa and disappeared towards the stairway. "It's okay," she whispered to her son, "It's going to be okay." As his tears slowed, she found herself whishing it would be as easy to convince his father the very same.

* * *

Since Vegeta had yet to give her a reason to repair anything and she hadn't the heart to work on anything else with the threat of the androids only a week away, she found herself back in her lab replicating Saiyan armor. Vegeta's had gotten fairly tattered since his departure into space, and since there didn't seem much for her to do to assist with the upcoming fight, she at least wanted to provide Vegeta with a fresh set.

When it was done, she carried the capsule containing the new suit upstairs to their room. As she was setting it on the bedside table, the door opened and Vegeta stepped in, dark hair was wet and a white towel slung low across his hips.

Grinning, her fingers tightened around the capsule. "I have a gift for you."

One of his brows quirked as he slid the door back against its frame, searching for his son's ki and finding it downstairs in the kitchen with Mrs. Briefs.

Bulma placed the capsule on the nightstand, her grin widening. "Nothing like that, you perv." He shrugged and sat on the edge of her bed. "But," she continued, closing the distance between them. It seemed so long ago she'd joked about him 'not doing anything naughty to her'. So, so long ago. "Now that you mention it…"

He pulled her towards him, fisting the sides of her tank top. The instant she was in front of him, Bulma pressed her lips against his, their kisses fast and desperate. As though some part of her knew that they might only have a week left. Even if their preparation had been enough and they managed to survive the androids, things could change drastically for the two of them. And she didn't want it to.

Bulma pulled herself onto the bed, rolling her weight on him and pressing her knees on either side of his hips, straddling him. Palms flat against his shoulders, her feeble attempts to push him backwards failed, and so she snaked her hands up his back to tangle into his hair. Giving his mane a firm tug, Vegeta finally complied and leaned back, tilting his head towards her as his hands moved from her hips to brush across her ribcage. She shifted her weight against him, and with a grunt Vegeta dropped his grip and yanked at the hem of her shirt.

Smirking down at him, Bulma yanked her top over her head before sliding her thumb inside the knot in his towel. Vegeta rarely allowed her to be on top, and she was going to be sure to make the most of it.

* * *

"Yep," Bulma smiled, tugging a hat onto Trunks' hair. The boy giggled and pulled at the elastic material. "We're going on an adventure today Trunks! Are you ready?"

The boy stopped giggling, and nodded, thrusting one of his chubby fists into the air.

"Good boy," she winked. "And we'll get to see your daddy today. Hopefully that jerk won't be late for the fight."

Trunks blinked as his mother continued to babble from across the room.

It had been six days since Bulma had last seen Vegeta. He'd been in her bed after they dozed in post-coital lull, and when she awoke to relieve her parents of babysitting duty, she returned to her room to find Vegeta gone.

Aside from the occasional stare from the corner of his eye, Vegeat had been fairly distant towards his son. She knew his presence at Capsule Corporation was something, and he hadn't actually made any move to prove that he _didn't_ want to be a father. However, he hadn't exactly made any moves to earn him a Father of the Year trophy either.

Bulma convinced herself his departure hadn't anything to do with either of them. He'd most likely disappeared that night to get some serious last minute training for the androids in. She was positive he would show up today, he wouldn't skip out on the fight, not when he'd spent the last three years doing nothing but training. If he bailed on them now, she'd personally kick his Super Saiyan ass.

But he'd be there. Vegeta always kept his word. It had been what he'd been working so hard for. And she'd been working hard, too. Damn her friends if they thought she'd just sit idly at home without so much as _seeing_ them.

"Thanks right Trunks," she continued, grinning at the boy still looking up at her with wide, blue eyes. "We're going to take a look at those mean androids who have been giving us hell, and then our friends will save the day and we'll be home in time for dinner."

The boy blinked, and Bulma grabbed her capsule for one of her hovercars before shrugging an orange vest over her red top.

"Later mom," she called lifting Trunks into the air and watching as he giggled.

"Bye Bulma," her mother replied, entering the room and taking her grandson into her arms. "You two have fun!"

"We will," Bulma nodded, sliding out of her slippers at the front door and tugging on a pair of sneakers. "No worries. We'll be back in time for dinner."

 


	14. Chapter 14

She hadn't made it home in time for dinner.

The morning of May 12, she had taken her son to the battlefield to sneak a peak at the androids that had been at the forefront of her mind for three years. It seemed only natural, and if she hadn't come she couldn't have identified that Android 20 was actually Dr. Gero. She'd even made a remote device to help save the planet, not that they'd used it, and had helped repair Android 16, which resulted in his sacrifice meaning nothing.

Tiredly, she sighed and wiped away the remnants of the day's makeup with a warm washcloth.

It had only been two weeks, and yet it seemed so long ago that her hovercar had blown up. And, true to his word, Vegeta had not protected her. What bothered her most was that he hadn't even batted an eye when his own son was in danger.

It had been their son from the future that had saved them, and at that thought her anger at Vegeta evaporated. Future Trunks had restored so much faith in herself as a mother. He really was a great kid.

She pulled the washcloth away from her face and glanced at her reflection, jumping as she noticed the figure standing in the doorway, watching her with a dark, pensive expression. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes met hers through the glass.

"Vegeta," she breathed, turning to face him.

She'd seen him often over the course of the past two weeks, but only in short intervals as he'd blast off at any chance to train or fight, not that she expected otherwise. When their friends had taken refuge at Capsule Corps to await the announcement of the Cell Games he'd even stayed in her bed, but he'd been edgy with so many of Earth's fighters around and it made sense that she was something familiar, something sane.

Briefly, she wondered if he'd thought of her as often as she had of him these past two weeks. It couldn't be too bizarre a thought; after all, what had been two weeks for her had been over two years for him thanks to his stays in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber.

"Trunks is here," she said, shaking the silly thought out of her mind. It didn't matter how often Vegeta thought of her. He was here now, and he appeared to be weighing his options. What those options were she hadn't a clue, so she continued with a light smile. "He's going to stay the night and leave tomorrow after he's gotten some rest."

He nodded, but had felt the boy's energy roaming the hallways downstairs so there was really no need to acknowledge her words. Bulma once again turned to face the sink and continued washing her face, and he turned away from her. Hovering by the doorway, he shifted slightly and cast one last glance at the mirror before releasing a short, breathy exhale and leaving the bathroom with a slam of the door. Despite that it had been open when he'd entered.

* * *

"Vegeta," she managed through ground teeth. "I don't care. Everyone is wearing one, and so are you, okay?"

"Hn," he grunted, leaning away from the woman and the black armband she was wielding. It was the morning of May 27, and his son from the future was leaving for his timeline. Which meant Capsule Corporation was crawling with babbling Earthlings. His lips pulled into a snarl, and Bulma sighed.

"I thought you respected Goku," she coaxed, batting her blue eyes up at him. His scowl only intensified.

She'd explained to him that the wearing of a black armband signified mourning, that the wearer was recognizing the commemoration of a fallen comrade. Wearing something so silly was one thing, but wearing it to blend in with Kakarot's idiot friends was another thing entirely.

"No."

Bulma frowned, and shrugged her own band on her arm. "Your son is wearing one."

"I don't care."

"But Vegeta," she looked crestfallen, "it's a custom."

His arms crossed against his chest and his pointy, aristocratic nose turned upwards. "It isn't a Saiyan custom."

"Ug, fine!" She shouted with a roll of her eyes, and Vegeta watched as she tossed the _sacred, precious_ armband into the air before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

Staring down at the armband lying on the floor, he grunted before following the woman into the hallway.

He almost wished he'd taken a few moments to pick up the band and place it on his arm, if only to give him an extra second or two away from the commotion outside. The lecherous old man was there, and had abandoned his usual floral shirt in favor of a red suit. Still, he was making lewd comments about Bulma's tits to the short, pink pig. Vegeta's teeth gnashed. Shifting his gaze to where Krillin, Gohan, and Yamcha were reminiscing about Goku as the blue, floating cat hovered nearby only made his teeth grind more violently. It was even more deplorable than the former, and he felt a vein in his forehead throb painfully as he crossed the lawn and took shelter beneath the shade of a tree.

Sensing his presence, the group of warriors stopped laughing and glanced in his direction. It was Krillin whose eyes shifted from the tall, scar-faced warrior at his left to the stoic prince across the lawn, and grinned.

"Hey Gohan," he said under his breath, "Notice that Yamcha and Vegeta are wearing the same shirt?"

The half-Saiyan stopped straightening his tie to blink at Krillin. "Huh?" Then, glancing between the pair of warriors, he laughed. "Oh, wow, you're right. Hey Yamcha," he said, his voice louder as Krillin grinned at his side. "You and Vegeta match."

Yamcha laughed as well, while Vegeta's arms tightened across his chest and a crimson blush stained his cheeks. "Hn," he grumbled, still in favor of the long-sleeved teal shirt than the horrendous pink button up.

The others joined in the laughter until Bulma and her mother opened the back door and stepped outside, along with both Trunks. The younger giggling in his grandmother's arms, while the older strolled alongside his mother as she informed him that the time machine was good to go.

Clasping one of his hands in both of hers, Bulma fought off the tears stinging her eyes. It was silly to mourn the loss of her son when he sat gargling in her mother's arms, but it wasn't the same. "I'm really proud of you, son."

The polite young boy smiled and blushed slightly. "Thanks mom."

"Be careful," she continued, returning his smile as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

He nodded and gave a soft, "Right."

Turning from his mother, Trunks made his way towards his friends, his heart aching at the knowledge that he wouldn't see the smiling of faces of Gohan and Krillin when he crossed back over. From the corner of his eye, he saw his father surveying him, and paused.

"Dad."

While his expression remained stony, Vegeta lifted his arm and motioned a quick, two-fingered wave. Trunks smirked and returned the sign of respect.

His mother called him from the other side of the yard while his friends wished him well. With a heavy sign, Trunks entered the time machine and prepared himself for the upcoming fight. He'd been born, and besides Goku everyone was alive. This timeline was safe now, but his own still needed him.

They watched the ship rise and disappear, and in the aftermath of his departure stood in silence as the breeze whipped at their hair and clothes.

Bulma continued to ward off the tears, and jumped slightly when she felt a large, warm hand on her shoulder. She turned to face the man at her right and smiled.

"Yamcha."

"He'll be safe," he said, glancing at the spot where the ship had disappeared. "Besides, he's still here."

She glanced towards her mom who was bouncing the chubby baby in her arms, and nodded. "I know. But I'll still miss him."

Yamcha nodded, his dark eyes meeting hers.

"I am sorry." She wasn't sure what she was sorry for, exactly, but she knew she'd hurt one of her best friends through the events of the last three years. And while she wouldn't change any of her decisions regarding Vegeta or their son, she didn't wish Yamcha unwell.

"You don't have to apologize." His features broke into a grin. "Besides, you think _we're_ complicated? Krillin over there's got it bad for an _android_."

"Hey!" Krillin called, teetering between anger at having his secret declared so openly and the embarrassment of knowing that it was true.

"An android, hey?" Master Roshi leered. "She good lookin'?"

They broke into another fit of laughter, save Vegeta who was once again suffering from the pesky vein throbbing at his temple. He just wanted them gone so he could train in peace.

"I feel almost bad for laughing," Yamcha sighed, releasing Bulma's shoulder from his grasp and staring off into the distance.

"No way," Krillin shook his head as the laughter died and some of his friends looked rather guilty for being happy at such a time. "That's how Goku would have wanted it."

* * *

He stared down at the baby, his son, who was blinking up at him from his place inside the crib. Trunks had Bulma's coloring and his features, his strength but her heart.

Vegeta's features tightened, and Trunks continued to glare at him. It was strange to know that in each timeline their relationship had been the same. As though he were actually powerless against her. As if it were fate.

Except in the other timeline he'd died at the hands of the androids, and she'd survived, built a time machine and warned them. Worst of all, it had been the spawn of Kakarot that had trained his son, but not in this timeline.

"You let me and Trunks die."

Her voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned from the scowling baby to his scowling mother standing in the doorway.

"You shouldn't have been there."

Bulma's eyes narrowed, but she knew he had a point. "You didn't even try to save us."

"I told you Bulma, I may have been fighting on your side, but I wasn't going to protect you."

"He's your son, your family," she said, taking a step towards him. Inside the crib, Trunks was nodding off to sleep despite the harsh voices filling the room. "There are things more significant than fighting, you know. Your family is more important than winning."

His grip tightened around the bars of the boy's crib. Between clinched teeth, he managed, "I know that. Now."

Despite his obvious inner turmoil at the admittance, a smile pulled at her lips. She'd heard it in those words a poorly articulated, but definitely there, apology.

And he'd meant it. It had been after Kakarot sacrificed himself to destroy Cell, and had failed. Cell, the bastard, had tried to take Trunks' life with a cowardly blow, and he'd thought he'd succeeded. Vegeta had never wanted to destroy anything so thoroughly in his entire life. He'd had his ancestry mocked and his race scuffed at, his pride taken down a peg, but hadn't flown off the handle until he'd watched his son from the future laying broken, face up, eyes distant, coughing up blood. In that moment Vegeta knew he had no hope of winning, but he'd fought anyway.

Bulma smiled as she watched the emotions play across Vegeta's features as his eyes remained on the steady rise and fall of their son's breathing from the crib. Yamcha had told her that afternoon that he was staring to understand that Vegeta was not all that bad a guy. She'd known it all along, but it was nice to see that he was beginning to outwardly act upon some of his fairer impulses. He'd always be Vegeta of course, but he could be Vegeta who was a father and a… well, she wasn't sure what she was to him, but his being a father was a start.

Vegeta closed his eyes, the image of Trunks asleep faded to the smiling boy from the future who'd so desperately wanted his respect. It shifted to Kakarot, and his grip on the crib tightened once again.

He was exhausted. He'd gone at everything passionately: he'd worked to defeat Frieza, to be stronger than the androids, Kakarot, and yet all his hard work fell short. Each time. He wouldn't give up, but he was far too weary continue at his old pace.

Goku had left, left him with nothing, and in his departure it was his son, Gohan, who had saved them all in his place. And the most maddening part was that now he'd never get a chance to prove himself.

Once again, the woman interrupted his thoughts. "You can stay."

He smirked and turned to face her. "You're not going to be able to hold Kakarot's power over my head for your protection any more."

"And you're not going to get away with everything because we need your help with the androids," she paused, and a smile lit her features. "But I had hoped we wouldn't need those excuses any more."

"I will stay," he nodded, his eyes darting down to the sleeping boy in the crib. "For him." He cast her a sidelong glance, and neither was sure if perhaps he meant her, too. "He requires proper training."

"Yes," she watched as Vegeta released the crib from his grip. "It's been a long couple of days; let's get some sleep."

He didn't say anything, he didn't nod or grunt in affirmation, but he followed her across the hall to their room and shut the door behind them. Nearly as soon as he was under the covers, he'd fallen asleep. Bulma smiled as she changed into her pajamas and joined him beneath the covers.

It would be seven years before he openly admitted to loving her, seven years until he went out of his way to sacrifice himself for his family's protection, and seven years until he'd once again have his chance to go against Kakarot. But in those seven years, he'd continue to live. Bulma rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. For each of them, it was enough.

* * *

_.finis._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone who gave reading this story a chance. I know how many 3-year stories are out there, so a big hug to everyone who gave my take a chance and stuck with me through the end.
> 
> I'd like to extend a special thanks to everyone that took the time to review. I always appreciated the feedback, and I hope to hear from you all again soon. :D
> 
> Thanks!


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